A Ranger and a Granger
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: Hermione Granger,expert in Magical law, enlist the help of bounty hunter, Ranger. There's 2 problems with that: he can't know that she's a witch & she's attracted to him. He's attracted to her, too & something tells her he already knows she's a witch.
1. Chapter 1

_*All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich and I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story. Thank you._

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**A Ranger and a Granger**

**By**

**Anne M**

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_**Written for Granger Enchanted's Mayhem in May Challenge:**_

_**Prompt: "What do you mean you're a witch?" – Hermione Granger, witch, expert in Magical Law, does the unthinkable and falls for a regular old Muggle. **_

Summary: Hermione Granger, witch extraordinaire, is getting her degree in magical law. She's written a profile on a deranged wizard who's visiting Muggle children in their sleep, under the guise of 'The Tooth Fairy'. Instead of leaving coins or candy in exchange for their teeth, he gives them horrific nightmares, and blames it all on one witch…Hermione Granger. He's slipped through the Aurors fingers in England and is now doing the same thing in the States.

Told by her superiors that she can no longer work on the case, because it's too personal, Hermione decided to work outside the law, and enlist the help of a professional bounty hunter…a man of mystery by the name of 'Ranger'. This Latin man seems to possess a bit of magic of his own, as well as a great big helping of sexuality. There's something between the two, be it chemistry, or a bit of magic. However, she can't let it be known that she's a witch, or just how much she wants him. After all, her only goal is to catch one man, not two, right?

Crossover fic with 'Ranger' from Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum Mystery Stories.

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**Part I:**

Hermione Granger, witch extraordinaire, sat in a large American SUV, beside a large American 'man' named Diesel, and asked, "Are you sure this man named Ranger can be trusted?"

"Without a doubt, little darling," the handsome, tall, broad-shouldered Diesel said with a wink.

"And he doesn't know I'm a witch?" she asked.

"Not only does he not know you're a witch," Diesel began, "but he doesn't even know that I'm an Untouchable who tracks Unmentionables." His arm came up to the back of her seat, his thumb rubbing her shoulder absentmindedly. She glared at him and he winked again.

Hermione found that highly unlikely. Unlike his British counterparts, called 'Unspeakables', the American 'Untouchables', such as this Diesel, apparently had no qualms revealing to Muggles, or non-magical folk, that they're magical.

Hermione had done some investigating of her own and had discovered that little fact. This man, named Diesel, had no compunction whatsoever in doing magic of any type in front of Muggles when it came to capturing his fugitives, and she was about to tell him as much. "Yet you've used a fugitive apprehension agent by the name of Stephanie Plum, as well as this Ranger gentleman, several times to aid you in your search for people that you're after," Hermione said, one eyebrow in the air. "I happen to know you've performed basic magic in front of them. They have to know something is amiss. In England, Unspeakables are the most classified of all Ministry employees. Most of the other employees there don't even know what they do, or who they apprehend, and your job as an Untouchable is an equivalent of an Unspeakable, yet you go around performing magic in front of non-magical people all the time!"

He let out a low laugh, winked a third time and reached over and ruffled her hair, which irritated her. He said, "You're so cute I could kiss you and I must say, you get an 'A plus', because you've done your homework. But I promise, they merely think I'm a man of mystery. They don't question anything about what I do. It's part of my magic, as well as my charm. I leave them wondering, but they don't question anything. They only remember what I want them to remember, and believe me, if Ranger really wanted to pursue things, he would."

"And he's going to help me, right?" she asked.

His hand, which was now resting on her shoulder, went to the back of her neck and squeezed. "Darling, you worry too much. I already told you he was. Ranger knows this area better than anyone, and he's the best bounty hunter around. If you want someone caught, you go to him. Sometimes I think he has some magic in him, if not magic, then some pretty strong mojo."

"Mojo? What's mojo?" Hermione asked.

That question merely got another laugh from the sandy-haired blonde man beside her. "Listen, darling," Diesel started, "you're after the bum going around calling himself 'The Tooth Fairy', right? And I happen to know this asshole is working with that deranged doctor who jumped bail that Ranger is after, Dr. Giggles. So it's a win-win situation for the two of you to work together. Let's go inside and find him." Diesel stepped out of the large, white vehicle and out in the baking, hot, Trenton, New Jersey summer sun.

Hermione opened the door to the car and immediately realized the air around her was stale and stagnant. She thought England was humid, but she didn't know humidity like this humidity. Her hair curled immediately, even though she tried to straighten it earlier. Her shirt stuck instantly to her chest, and her skirt rose up a bit on her bare thighs. Thank goodness she decided to forgo hose earlier. Everything here looked grey and old and slightly ugly. Hermione started to follow him into a little pizza shop she could only classify as 'a dive', when she stopped to remove her suit jacket to place it back in the vehicle.

Diesel whistled at her, as if she was a dog, and said, "This way, sweetheart."

"Ugh, if you call me darling or sweetheart again I might have to go against my rule of not using magic in front of people and hex you," she said through clenched teeth.

The man smiled at her, with perfectly straight, beautiful white teeth, and said, "Promises, promises." He held the door open for her, and as she passed in front of him, he swatted her bottom. She turned around to face him with a look of utter contempt on her face and he winked yet again. "I wanted to see if you would really pull out your wand in public. You pull out yours and I'll pull out mine," he said with a mischievous grin.

"I know wandless magic, you idiot, just like you." She slapped him upside the back of his head, marched past him, squared her shoulders, and marched inside.

He laughed and said from behind her, "Considered me warned, and a bit turned on. I like a tough woman and bit of rough foreplay."

The man ushered in front of her as soon as they entered the dark, din establishment. He took a hold of her wrist, his large hand wrapping around it like a steel band. She wasn't sure why he felt the need to do so, but in a way, she was glad. Everyone seemed to look at her, and the looks they were giving her ranged from predatory to slightly sexual. This was the place she was to meet the man who was to help her catch her fugitive? Merlin help her.

Hermione was working on a degree in magic law enforcement, and was in her final year of study. She had to do an internship in each field to get her final degree. She had already worked in the prosecutor's office, the defender's office, for the Wizengamot, for the hit squad, for probations and apprehensions. Now, she was working for six weeks in the elite Aurors office, under none other than Harry Potter. She wasn't actually assigned this case. She had decided to take it on her own, when she found out that it was directly related to her.

For the last six months there were reports coming in that Muggle children were being terrorized in their sleep after they would place their lost teeth under their pillows, while waiting their proper due from 'the tooth fairy'. These children would leave their lost teeth under their pillows, hope they would find money in exchange for their teeth, when what they found instead were torturous nightmares, filled with havoc and pain. Most of the children could recount the nightmares with chilling accuracy, and they were all identical: an evil dentist performed the worst sort of oral surgery on the children, all without painkillers, all unnecessary, and when the children awoke, all actually executed.

Some children had teeth unnecessarily pulled. Some children had painful root canals done. Others had actual braces put upon their teeth. The Muggle authorities were baffled, and the only link was the fact that the man always told the children he was 'The Tooth Fairy' and then he would tell them to deliver the same message to the police, which was: '_Tell her it's all her fault'_.

Finally, the magical liaison who worked with the Muggle police was contacted, who in turn contacted the Aurors to ask for help. He asked them to see if they could trace the culprit, using magic, since it was obvious the man was using some sort of dark magic on these children. After all, one or two children would be a coincidence. After six months and twenty-five victims it was obvious something sinister was afoot.

They got their first solid evidence when they set up a stake out and they almost caught a wizard apparating into a five year old Muggle's bedroom one night. He disapparated away before they could catch him, but not before he dropped an actual note this time. A note, strangely enough, not just blaming an unknown woman, as in, '_Tell her it's all her fault'_. This one said stated clearly, _'Tell Hermione Granger it's all her fault'._

Hermione read the case file, wrote a profile on the man, and was convinced that she should accompany Harry on the next stake out, even before she knew of the note. He agreed, and then told her about the note. The man struck again the very next week. Hermione, Harry and two other Aurors lay in wait at a ten year old Muggle girl's bedroom. As soon as the wizard apparated into the girl's bedroom, a wizard's duel erupted, and before he was captured, he made his escape again. But, Hermione recognized him, as did Harry.

It was a wizard, another Muggle-born, whom they had gone to school with, though he was slightly older. He had also been a patient of Hermione's parents when both Hermione and he were younger. His name was Conrad Bailey, and he had lost most of his teeth in a bicycle accident when he was ten, and her parents were unable, even through oral surgery, to replace them, though they tried. He was teased and tormented when he went back to school that fall because of his dental deformity. When he was older, and became a wizard, his teeth were replaced magically, and later, when he went on to Hogwarts, no one there knew of his painful childhood secret…until one fateful day when Hermione accidentally gave away his secret.

Truthfully, Hermione never told a soul. In fact, she thought of him as a confidant, and when she was teased about her own 'buck teeth' she went to him, crying one day, and asked him how he handled the teasing when he was younger.

Unfortunately, someone overheard Hermione asking him this question. Soon, everyone knew that this boy's teeth were not natural, but were a result of magic, and he was teased once more. Hermione tried to apologize, but he would never accept her apology. Even after her own teeth were fixed, she tried to make light, and tell him that now both of their smiles were the product of magic.

He seemed to hate her even more.

He graduated four years before her, and she soon forgot about him. She had no clue that he still harbored dark thoughts, or ill feelings, against her. Why would he? When Harry and she made the link to Conrad Bailey and Harry went to arrest him, he was long gone.

Then, two months ago, the same thing started happening again right here in Trenton, New Jersey, in the United States. The only difference was that instead of the bogus dental work happening to the children while they slept peacefully waiting for the tooth fairy to appear, inexplicably, it seemed to happen right after they saw a real dentist, though the dentist claimed not to have any knowledge of any such sinister dental work, though oddly enough, he was billing the children's insurance for the things that were being done to them in their dreams.

This dentist, Dr. Randall Giggly, who dubbed himself 'Dr. Giggles' was arrested. He was wanted for writing bad prescriptions, for insurance fraud, and a whole host of other things, though he proclaimed his innocence. He made bail, and then promptly failed to show for his court appearance. Harry Potter had decided to send two Aurors to America to help apprehend this Muggle Dentist, certain it would lead to the capture of Conrad Bailey. His contact with the American Ministry of Magic was this man named Diesel. Harry expressly forbade Hermione from coming here.

Good thing she never listened to anything Harry Potter had to say. Therefore, she contacted this Diesel man first, and instead of working with him, as Harry was going to have the Aurors do, she asked him if there was someone else with whom she might work. He referred her to this 'bounty hunter' named Ranger that they were meeting today, therefore, here she was.

Diesel still had her wrist as they wove through a throng of dirty people, but he dropped it to lean against the counter. He ordered a beer, turned to her, started to ask her what she wanted, laughed, and then without asking, ordered her a bottle of water. Diesel took her water and his beer and with a cock of his head, said, "This way," and he moved toward a booth in the back.

The moment Diesel moved out of sight, another man, sitting at another booth, reached out for her arm. Hermione looked down at his dirty hand, with his dirty fingernails, and she winced. She looked up at his face, and even it was even dirty. He smiled. He was missing a few teeth, too. Too bad Conrad hadn't visited him.

"Hey, pretty thing, I haven't seen you here before," he stated the obvious.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You haven't seen me here before because I've never been here before, now let go of my arm."

He laughed and said, "You talk funny." He had a thick New Jersey accent, and she thought he had a lot of nerve to say that she spoke strangely when she could barely make out a word he had just said. He pulled her closer and put his arm around her waist.

She shook her head and said more to herself than to the man, "Seriously, this is not happening." She looked at the man and said, "I assure you that I speak the Queen's English very well. I'm not quite certain what you're speaking. Now, let go of me, or suffer the consequences."

"How about instead, I teach you some manners, queenie?" he asked. He pulled her down on his lap.

She placed both hands on his chest, pushed away with all her might and said, "To teach me manners you would first have to acquire some on your own, which seems highly unlikely at this stage of game."

A man in a booth at the back of the bar was watching the scene play out with interest. He looked over at Diesel, who was laughing with a pretty waitress. Seriously, that man was such a waste. He stood up, to go to the pretty woman's assistance, assuming that since she had walked in with Diesel that she was the person he was to meet, when he stopped.

The woman poured a glass of beer over the odious man's head. She had also already extricated herself from his greasy paws. She looked down at her own hands, as if they were dirty from being near the man, and wiped them on her skirt. She didn't look afraid, just highly annoyed. Ranger smiled. This woman could hold her own. He sat back down to wait for her.

Then he stood back up when he heard the man call her a bitch. That was uncalled for, and Ranger hated men who called women names. He patted his side to make sure he had his stun gun. He knew he had his real gun. He walked slowly over to the pair in time to hear the pretty, British woman say, "You seriously did not just call me a bitch did you? I say, now that's rude."

The disgusting man stood up and pulled back his hand and said, "I'll teach you rude, bitch. I'll bitch slap the rude right out of you."

The next thing happened so quickly Ranger didn't even see it happen. He ran to her aid, as did Diesel, but when they both got to her side, the man in question was slumped over in his booth, presumably knocked out cold, and the pretty woman didn't have one scratch on her. She merely stood there, and was placing something quickly back into a pocket of her skirt. If it was a stun gun, she was the 'fastest draw' Ranger had ever witness.

"Damn," Ranger said out loud, with a smile on his face. He turned to walk away, sank back into his booth, just as Diesel placed his arm around the petite brunette's shoulders.

"Darling," Diesel said. "That was great. You were so fast. I heard stories about how good you were. Remind me not to get on your bad side."

She looked up at him, removed his arm from around her shoulders, and said, "You already are." But she smiled at him, and he smiled back. Ranger couldn't help it – he smiled at that statement, too. Diesel handed her water to her and pointed toward Ranger's booth in the back.

Ranger watched as they approached. The woman was a bit on the small size. She couldn't be more than five feet four, and 125 pounds. She had long, wavy, medium brown hair. She had freckles on the bridge of her nose. He noticed those the closer they got. He was a softy when it came to freckles. Her eyes were a warm, chocolate brown, rimmed with gold. Her nose was pert, as were her breasts. Her waist was trim, her hips narrow. She was dressed for a job interview, not for a hot New Jersey summer day, with her white silk, short sleeve blouse and grey skirt.

My goodness, she was the type of woman whom a man could have a wet dream about and then still take home to mother. He already heard a bit about her from Diesel. She was from England, worked in law enforcement there, and was trying to capture a man who was working with a fugitive that was at the moment eluding Ranger and she was supposedly, according to Diesel, one of the smartest women he had ever met.

He often questioned Diesel's intellect so he wasn't sure at the time if that was high praise of not. Now he knew it probably was.

He looked at her fingers. No rings. Did that mean she was single? He wondered. Did it matter? Not likely. If Ranger wanted her, he would take her if she was married, engaged, divorced, or single. Hell, she could even be a day old widow, and he would find a way to have her if he wanted her. She could be a nun and he would take her if he wanted her.

Oh yeah, by the way the zipper tightened around his black cargo pants, he wanted her a whole hell of a lot.

Diesel pointed toward the booth and said, "Granger, this is Ranger." He laughed at the rhyme, and said in return, "And Ranger, this is Granger. How about that. We gave a Ranger and a Granger."

Hermione leaned forward, held out her hand, and said, "You may just call me Hermione."

There were many things Ranger wanted to call this woman…lover being but one, but fine, he would start with Hermione.

_End of Part I -_

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_A/N: To you Stephanie Plum Fans out there: I've never written a Stephanie Plum Story. I'm mostly a HP writer, though I've written one Southern Vampire Mystery Story. I wrote this for a challenge for the site "Granger Enchanted". I hope I don't butcher the Plum characters too much. I've read those stories and love the Ranger character so much. This will be a seven part, short story. Thanks!_

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_To see the link to the story banner, visit my author's page._


	2. Chapter 2

_*All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich and I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story. Thank you._

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**Part II**

The feel of his warm hand against her skin as she shook his hand sent electricity up her spine. The hair on the back of her neck stood on edge, and her stomach took a nosedive. It had been a long time since a man had made her feel this way with a mere touch. He stood, continued to hold her hand, nodded, and said, "Nice to meet you, Hermione. My name's Ricardo Carlos Manoso, but most people call me Ranger. However, you may call me Ranger, Ricardo or Carlos."

"I get my choice?" she asked lightly. He still had her hand. She noticed that acutely. She also noticed that he was tremendously attractive.

"In deed," he said, with an alluring smile. Hermione wanted to melt at his feet. He was Cuban-American, tall, handsome, and extremely masculine. His skin was dark, and his hair black. It was slightly long, curling over his ears, and almost touching the collar of his black t-shirt, which was stretched tightly across his smoothly, muscled chest.

"In that case, since I get a choice, I'll call you Ranger," she said. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Her head went to about the middle of that same, muscled chest and she was wearing shoes with a slight heel, which meant he was very tall! Diesel sat down in the opposite booth. Ranger continued to give her a look that was half smile and a half 'I want to see you naked' look when he released her hand. Since he wouldn't mind doing more than just working with her he said, "The pleasure is entirely mine, Hermione. Have a seat." He moved his hand to the side to indicate that she should scoot into the booth where he had been sitting, which would mean that she would be sitting next to him. Goodness.

She sat down and scooted toward the wall. He sat down with an easy, lithesome elegance, and a grace usually reserved for men half his size. His agility was only the first thing she noticed about him. He was swathed all in black, from the tip of his boots the top of his shoulders, and everything fit him as if they were molded to his frame. He was beautiful, but in a Greek statue sort of way, not in an effeminate sort of way.

His hair looked soft and silky. She wondered what it felt like. She thought it might look nice longer. He had slight stubble on his cheeks and a diamond stud earring in his ear. He turned slightly, to face her in the booth, and instead of feeling as if he was imposing on her, she felt suddenly safe and calm. He took up most of the booth, but he didn't crowd her. His thigh touched her thigh and his arm came up to rest along the back of the booth. She didn't know if he was aware of it or not, but the fingers of that hand was lightly touching her bare arm, right below her shirt sleeve. She had a funny feeling he was perfectly aware of it, and entirely aware of how it made her feel.

He seemed to be studying her as eagerly as she was studying him. Neither of them were listening to a thing Diesel was saying, and he seemed to be saying quite a bit. "So anyway," Diesel interjected, "I told little darling here that you were the man to help her out."

"In deed?" Ranger repeated. "You hail from England?"

She nodded. "London."

"You work for the police or Scotland yard?" he asked.

She hated to lie to him, but she could hardly tell him that she worked for the English Ministry of Magic. She had forged credentials that said she worked for the London Police Department, if he insisted on seeing them, but she hardly thought this man would ask to look at her credentials. She said, "I work for the police."

"Why aren't you working with the police here, or with the FBI?" he asked. "Why work with me?"

Hermione could tell that this man was going to be smart. Perhaps too smart to lie to, but lie to him she must. Unlike Diesel, she couldn't risk letting him know she was a witch. For one thing, it was against her private code of ethics, for another, she wasn't even supposed to be working on this case. "Listen, Mr. Manoso, would it really hurt for us to pull our resources. You help me, and I help you?"

Ranger gave her a half smile and said, "I thought you were going to call me Ranger, and in other words, you want me to catch my fugitive, and in the meanwhile, you tag along and catch yours, right?"

Diesel snorted and Hermione suddenly looked smug. Diesel said, "Listen, dude, you have to trust me on this. Little darling here is much respected in her world, I mean, her field. She helped bring about the downfall of one of England's biggest, bad-asses, I mean, the man was evil personified, perhaps the worst criminal ever, and if he hadn't been brought down, it would have eventually had an effect on us all, even here in the States. I can't say much more, but believe me, that little thing she did with the joker over at the other booth was nothing. She can hold her own."

Ranger continued to stare at Diesel. He didn't look back at Hermione. He stood and said, "Then she doesn't need me, does she." He started to walk away. Hermione stood as well, and reached out for him. She placed her hand tentatively upon his well-defined muscled arm.

He turned to look down at her hand. He felt as if her touch was branding him, burning him, scorching him with desires he had never imagined existed. He covered her hand with his, but left it on his arm, and stared deeply into her burnt umber eyes. He didn't say a word. He waited for her to speak.

"You're probably right. I probably don't need you," she admitted, "except, I'm working a bit outside the law myself on this, and frankly, I can use all the help I can get. You see, I've been forbidden to work on this case, but I have to, I just have to."

"Why?" he asked. He took her hand from his arm, but kept it in his.

She wanted to tell him it was because she felt responsible for everything, that she thought everything was her fault, but she didn't want to sound pitiful. She took a steady breath and repeated, "I told you, I'm working slightly outside the mainstream police on this. I'm earning my degree in law enforcement, and I wrote a profile on the man who's calling himself 'The Tooth Fairy'. Thanks to my profile, we were able to find out who he was. Now, we just have to catch him. Well, we actually caught him once, but he got away. I don't want that to happen again."

Ranger was impressed so far. He nodded, gave her hand a slight squeeze, and said, "And you think your man is working with my fugitive?"

"Yes, the motive is the same," she said, looking grim. She tried to remove her hand from his, but he held it still. "The unnecessary, useless, painful and extensive dental work on innocent children for his own twisted enjoyment, while your man bills the parent's insurance companies…yes, they're working together, and both of them are sick bastards in my opinion."

"I concur," he said smoothly. He dropped her hand and motioned back toward the booth. They both sat down as Ranger said, "Why is it that none of the children seem to remember having the work done while it's being done, and they only recall it afterwards, or even much later? Also, while there's positive proof that extensive dental work has indeed been done on these children, there never seems to be any evidence of any kind of anesthesia, twilight drug, laughing gas, or the like used. We can't even find dental tools, not even a drill, in the offices that this sick bastard, Dr. Giggles, a.k.a. Randy Giggley, uses, yet someone can't do that kind of work on a kid without instruments."

Hermione looked over at Diesel. He raised his brows. The action was not lost on Ranger. Ranger said, "If you both know something about the case that I don't know, and you want us to work together, you need to tell me. You need to trust me, and be truthful with me, or this won't work."

"The only thing I know is that Conrad Bailey is one sick man, who seems to have taken up with another sick man, and they're preying on innocent children, and I want it to stop," Hermione said seriously. She looked down for a moment.

"There's something else." Ranger sensed it. He had a natural ability to sense the things that people didn't want to say. He placed his thumb on her chin, to urge her face upwards. The action shocked her. It shocked him too, because he found that he wanted to keep her face in his hand. She tried to flinch away, but he kept his thumb in place and said, "Somehow, it's personal to you, isn't it? Did he hurt someone you know, or what?"

Hermione looked at Diesel again.

"Stop looking at him," Ranger said softly. "Look at me." Hermione glanced back into the softest brown eyes she had ever seen of the man beside her, but she didn't know how to respond. "The mere fact that you were referred by this fruitcake was reason enough that I almost DIDN'T meet with you, Miss Granger. Tell me, why is this so important to you?" He moved his thumb away from her chin slowly, the fingers of his hand fanning against the skin of her neck before his hand dropped to the table in front of them.

"This fruitcake will leave you two alone for a moment, shall I?" Diesel got up and went back over to talk to the pretty waitress at the bar.

Hermione took a long drink of water and then sighed. "I grew up with him. My parents were dentist, and he was in a bad accident when he was young. He suffered some facial deformities, including the loss of most of his teeth. My parents were unable to save them. He was teased terrible about it when he was child. He blamed my parents.

"When we were older we went to the same boarding school. By this time, he had, had reconstructive surgery and no one there knew of his former injuries." Hermione paused, to try to think of how she would phrase the rest of this without giving away the fact that they were magical. "One day, I accidentally said something about his prior problem to him, and someone overheard, and it snowballed from there, and he was teased all over again."

Ranger shook his head. "And this is enough for him to torture children now?"

Hermione shrugged, though she felt anything but contrite. "I know, it doesn't make sense to sane people, like you and me, but to a fragile mind like Conrad Bailey, yes it is. He left notes behind, blaming me. They said, 'Tell Hermione Granger it's all her fault', so, yes, Mr. Manoso, it's personal. I was told by my superiors that I wasn't to pursue this case because of that reason. However, someone referred me to Mr. Diesel, and he in turn referred me to you.

"He does seem like a bit of a loon," Hermione said with a laugh, "but I hope you won't hold that against me. I hope you can help me find this fiend. I can't stand the thought of another child hurting or suffering merely because I made a slip of the tongue when I was child, or because my parents weren't good enough dentists, or because we weren't able to catch him the first go round, and he slipped through our fingers. Please, will you help me?"

He thought he would do just about anything for her right about now.

_- End of Part II -_


	3. Chapter 3

_*All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich and I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story. Thank you._

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**Part III**

"Why have we been sitting in this car for almost three hours again?" Hermione asked as she stretched her arms high above her head.

Ranger stared at her out of the corner of his eye. Her back arched slightly as she stretched, jutting her breasts out, though he was sure that wasn't her intent. It was probably best that he not stare at her too much right now. Their close proximity was already setting him on edge, even if nothing she did was deliberately done to make him want her, although he still did. He finally answered her by saying, "I've told you twice, we're on a stake out."

She was in yet another excessively large, American SUV, this time a black one that at least had tinted windows, and air conditioning. Ranger and she were sitting on a side street, watching what appeared to be a small abandoned office building. Diesel left them at the bar, so it was just her and Ranger.

"And what are we watching again?" she asked.

She knew what she was trying hard NOT to watch. She was trying not to watch the sinfully handsome man beside her. They were barely speaking, so the last couple of hours had been uncomfortable on many levels. For one thing, his mere presence was imposing: his dark, Spanish, aristocratic features, his ridiculously, striking face, his sexy, glossy hair, all of these things practically screamed out at her to touch him, or kiss him, or do something equally embarrassing. She needed an excuse NOT to stare at him, because frankly, there was nothing else to stare at on this 'stake out'.

"We're watching that building out there. I heard Giggly used it last month. He might come back." Frankly, Ranger doubted that. He picked this building to watch because he thought he might like being alone with her. Now he knew what a mistake that was. Being alone with her was bordering on painful. Taking a drink of juice, he offered her some. She looked at it closely.

"What type is that?"

"Carrot juice," he said. "It's full of anti-oxidants, and beta-carotene, and it's good for you."

Hermione knew she didn't particularly like pumpkin juice, which was a mainstay of their diet growing up at Hogwarts, but surely carrot juice would taste better than that. Hermione took the bottle from him, put it to her lips slowly, and took a small drink.

Then she sputtered, and coughed, and gagged. "That's horrid." She handed it back to him while making a funny face.

He laughed. "You must be a soda girl."

"Oh no, I don't like fizzy drinks, really," she said.

"More of a spot of tea girl?" he mocked in a refined English accent. She smiled at him. He smiled back. "I have some bottle water in the cooler in the back, if you'd rather."

"Thanks," Hermione said. She got up on her knees, reached toward the backseat, and opened the lid of the cooler, to reach inside for the water. Ranger looked over at her and his mouth almost watered at the view she offered. Her nice little backside was right before his eyes, and he was too much of a professional, and too much of a gentleman, to do anything about it. That didn't stop him from thinking about it. He had always been a rear-end man. She got her water and sat back down and he quickly adjusted his trousers.

She couldn't get the lid unscrewed. He laughed at her, took it from her hand. His fingers brushed her wrist, then her palm as he did. She quickly placed her hands on her lap, confused at why such an innocent touch would cause her such unease. He unscrewed the top and started to hand the plastic water bottle to her, keeping the little white lid in his other hand.

She reached for the water bottle with one hand, the lid with the other. As her fingers moved to grasp the lid, she put the water bottle to her mouth. His fingers wrapped around hers as hers wrapped around the bottle top. His hand captured hers. In her shock, confusion, and thoroughly desirous state at the fact that he was basically holding her hand again, she spilled the entire contents of the water bottle, much more than was supposed to go in her mouth, down the front of her blouse, causing the fine silk to be completely see-through. The lace of the camisole underneath stood out, as well as the outline of her nipples, even the dimples on her areolas. She gasped in horror and shock, completely wet.

He let go of the cap, and said, "I'm sorry," at the exact same time that she also apologized, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" He took the bottle from her and placed it in the dash console. She had nothing to mop up the water with, no way to dry herself. She couldn't take her wand out of her jacket, which was on the floorboard of the backseat with her purse, so all she could do was cover herself with her arms.

He looked around for something to dry her with too, when suddenly he pulled his black t-shirt right off his muscled torso. She thought he was going to offer it to her…either to wear or to dry with, so imagine her surprise when he began to dry her himself. With slow, steady, almost sensual strokes, he wiped the water away from her neck and chin first. He held one of her arms out of the way so that he could dry her chest and neck, and then that arm. He let that arm drop limply at her side. Without consent he took her other arm, which was still in front of her, straightened it, and began to dry it as well, with smooth, even strokes. He placed that arm also at her side when he was finished.

And she let him. She stared at the top of his head, his black hair so close, his scent intoxicating, and his face impossibly close to hers.

He parted the V of her blouse, using his free hand, and he dried the ample cleavage he found there. He found he could barely breathe at the sight before him. He seemed almost mesmerized. She too, was dazed, and let him continue with his ministrations.

He knew this was insane. Hell, he was usually the man who was completely in control, but he would worry about control later. There was something innately different about this woman, and it made him feel different. It made him act different.

They had been sitting together for three hours, barely talking, but the sheer closeness of her had been driving him mad! Her scent, her breathing, the way she moved her head, the way she touched her hair, her utter existence…in other words, everything about her had driven him to the point of distraction during the last couple of hours, so if anyone questioned his current state of mind, or arousal, or wondered what in the world he was doing DRYING HER with his t-shirt, he would simply have to plead insanity by means of extreme desire.

And at this point he didn't care. It was either do this, or pull her to him and kiss her senseless, which he had also been contemplating doing during the last couple of hours.

He held the collar of her blouse open with nimble fingers. She swallowed, coherent words escaping her usually vast vocabulary. Her belly tingled, her limbs felt like lead, as he leaned even closer. Then he blew on the front of her blouse.

"What are you doing?" she finally had the fortitude to ask.

"Drying you," he answered, as if she should already know. He stopped blowing on her blouse and continued to use a steady hand to stroke the soft cotton t-shirt over the front of her silk blouse, as it was still plastered to her skin. He stroked it over the planes and mounds of both breasts. Her nipples were hard, erect points. He blew on her blouse again, his mouth near one of those points. He wanted to take one of these erect buds in his mouth, but to stave off his desire he closed his mouth instead.

He moved the t-shirt back up and then down the slopes and curves of her shoulders, around to her stomach and waist. A small moan of desire left her lips. He closed his eyes for a moment to compose himself.

He had never desired a woman this much, this soon. He was losing control, and he was the master of control.

He dropped the t-shirt on the floor by her feet and his hand went out to touch her flat stomach, then he bunched the still nearly soaked material tightly in his fist. Taking another deep breath, he let go of the silk and allowed his hand to inch up to the top button of her blouse, moving slowly over the swell of breasts. With one hand he unbuttoned the buttons until her shirt was opened, revealing her white camisole underneath, which was as see-through as her blouse had become. With the blouse hanging open he leaned forward again and placed a hand flat against her chest, resting it over her heart. Her heartbeat was rapid. He had to feel it for himself. He had to know if she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

A small pool of liquid heat collected between her legs and she wondered if he would dry it as well, and then she knew she was blushing at the thought. Her arms still lay idle, where he had left them. Her head rested back on the headrest, her bottom lip between her teeth, eyes trained on his black hair. This was insane. This handsome, sexy stranger was doing something to her, and she had to stop him, now.

He lifted his hand from her chest and his fingertips glided smoothly along her collarbone, around to the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, his fingers in her hair. He had to kiss her. He lowered his head to hers. Then she said, "Stop."

His dark head slowly came up, his almost black eyes held hers and he said, "I don't know what I'm doing." That phrase had never come out of Ranger's mouth in his entire life, and he didn't know why it came out of it now.

In response, she said something that she had never said before. She said, "I didn't mean what I said. Don't stop."

He smiled and said something in Spanish. She didn't speak the language, but each word caressed her skin like a kiss. Perhaps this man was magical, because he had put her under some sort of spell.

He looked up into her eyes as his hands framed her face. His eyes seem to drink in the longing look from her eyes and he felt a sharp jolt between his legs that was more than desire. He smiled more. Pushing her shirt completely off her shoulders, he leaned in to kiss her sweet lips, and just as his lips touched hers he jumped a mile as a loud rapping sound reverberated at the window.

And Hermione couldn't help it…she screamed.

"Sorry, boss," a large black man said to Ranger when the Latin man touched the control to lower the window. At the same time he reached down and threw his t-shirt at Hermione. She held it over her chest. The man looked in the window and said, "Hello Ma'am. My name's Tank."

"She doesn't care," Ranger said with almost a growl.

"Actually, I do," Hermione said, as she was placing her own wet shirt back on her arms. She pushed Ranger's t-shirt to him, leaned forward, placed her arm across Ranger's lap, through the open window, and offered it to Tank as a means of hello. Tank looked at the offered hand, at her obvious state of partial undress, and back at his boss.

Then he took Hermione's hand and shook it as she said, "It's a pleasure. My name is Hermione Granger."

"Nice to meet you," the black man said. Ranger pushed Hermione back toward her seat, gave Tank a dirty look, since the man was looking at Hermione's chest as she buttoned her wet blouse, and he opened his car door.

Ranger leaned back in the car and said to Hermione, "I'll see what he needs. I'll be right back." He slammed the car door louder than he meant to, but not as loud as he might have wanted.

Hermione was glad he was leaving the car. She could get her wand, dry her blouse, and compose herself. She could also make sure that the man hadn't put a spell on her, other than good old fashioned feelings of lust. She reached in the back for her purse.

"Does Stephanie know about the English woman?" Tank asked with a smile.

"Miss Granger and I are working together, that's all, and Stephanie is getting ready to marry her old boyfriend, Morelli, remember?" Ranger spat, placing his damp t-shirt back over his head. "Now, what do you want?"

"Right boss, you're just working together," Tank said with a laugh. "I'm just happy to see you've moved on."

"For goodness sakes," Ranger replied. "Why are you here?"

"Fine," Tank responded. "See if I care. I came because we heard on the police radio that the phantom dentist struck again. He set up shop on Eleventh Street, in the poorest area. The detectives found out that he promised the parents of children prescriptions of Morphine, Vicodin, Percocet, Darvocet, and Oxocotin, and all they had to do was sign a Medicaid form and say they were there. However, unlike the other times, no bogus work was performed, like the times before. You told us to keep you informed."

"You got a list of the people whose Medicaid he's billing?" Ranger asked.

Tank produced the list. "Do you want us to keep watching this building for you?"

"No, it's a bust," Ranger decided. He went back to the car and told Hermione what Tank had discovered.

Hermione looked worried. "That means your man, Dr. Giggly, or Dr. Giggles if you may, is probably already setting up shop somewhere else, but my man, Conrad Bailey, aka 'The Tooth Fairy' is probably going to strike one of those names on that list tonight. He's back to his old modus operandi. Instead of working in conjunction with your man, he's probably going to visit one of these children from this list in their sleep, and we've got to be there to stop him."

"The problem is," Ranger began, "my man wrote over twenty-three prescriptions today. You'll have problems narrowing it down. The other problem is that the police are only after my man. They think he's responsible for everything, the insurance fraud, plus the torture on the children. They won't be looking to stop your man, so you won't be getting any help from them. I mean, I'll still help you, Granger, I will, even if it means my guy goes free. Torturing children trumps skipping bond, but we're only two people."

She nodded in understanding. "You have a lot of men working for you, I take it?"

Ranger nodded. "My company, Rangeman, is a security firm. I can spare some guys to help us. Maybe Diesel can help us, too."

"No," Hermione said. "I meant your guys could track your fugitive for you, if you decide to help me. I would hate for you to lose out your bounty, or whatever it's called, on Dr. Giggly because you're helping me."

"I'm helping to stop a man who torments and inflicts pain on children, Granger," he said with conviction. "It's personal to me, too."

She smiled. For the first time he looked down at her blouse. His frown rivaled her smile.

"How did you dry your blouse?" He reached over and touched it with his index finger. Even that small touch sent a chill through her.

"It's the heat," she lied.

"The air conditioning's on in the car," he said with a narrow gaze.

"So, how are we going to narrow down this list?" Hermione wondered, perusing the list to avoid his statement. She actually had a clue as to how _she_ would narrow down the list. She could use magic, and put some sort of wards on all the children's houses. But that would only serve to keep Conrad out, not catch him.

"I don't know," Ranger admitted. He was aware she was changing the subject, but perhaps they had gotten a bit carried away before, so it was just as well. "You wrote the profile on this sicko. Was there one sort of child he seemed more intent on torturing over others? If he has a vendetta against you, perhaps he picks on pretty little girls with curls and freckles across their noses." He reached over and brushed his thumb across her nose.

She dipped her head so he couldn't see her grin and said, "No, there was no pattern." However, Ranger had just given her an idea. To catch this maniac, she might have to offer herself up as bait. She actually said, "Hmmm."

"What?" he asked.

"Ah, nothing." She couldn't tell him her idea. For it to work, she had to do this on her own. She had a feeling he wouldn't want to put her in jeopardy, even though she wouldn't really be in true danger. She had to get back to her hotel. She had a lot of houses and flats to visit before tonight, if she wanted to place protection charms and wards on these children. To do that, she had to be alone.

That alone might be enough to let Conrad know that she was here in the States. She might have to leave her own calling card for him, as well. She would purposely lead him to her. Then, she would make him pay.

"Do you mind taking me back to my hotel?" she finally asked.

He shrugged, confused. "Are we done for the day? Just like that? Don't you want to stake out some of these addresses?"

"No, I think it's best if I get a good night's sleep, and approach this in the morning when I'm well rested," she lied.

He glared at her. "You said it yourself. He'll probably strike tonight. I'll put all my men on this. We can probably watch most of these houses and apartment complexes. Is sleeping really more important to you than protecting these children?" he asked, incredulously.

She stared back at him. Even she couldn't say something crass like that, even as a lie. Anyway, how could she tell him that merely watching their houses wouldn't keep a wizard out, no matter how many men he had working the case? She found that she wanted to confide in him, but she wouldn't, she couldn't. She replied, "Of course not, but I'm tired."

"Long flight, right? Have to get your beauty rest, right? What if a child suffers a bit in the meantime? These are all poor children anyway, from the poorest neighborhoods. What would a woman who went to a private boarding school and who grew up with parents who were dentist know about being poor? Maybe tomorrow they'll set up shop in a swanky part of town, and you'll feel more awake and therefore, more incline to stake out some of the upper-class houses." He turned back toward the road, pulled from the curb into traffic, and stared stony face toward the front.

She looked out the passenger side window, feeling miffed, wanting to defend herself, but knowing that she couldn't say much in response without revealing too much.

_End of Part III_


	4. Chapter 4

_*All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich and I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story. Thank you._

* * *

**Part IV**

Ranger couldn't believe he was about to kiss (or more) this coldhearted woman. He had always heard English women were cold, but this one seemed heartless. They had a solid lead, and earlier she appeared as if she genuinely wanted to catch this bastard, and now she wanted to go back to her hotel and go to sleep. She didn't seem to care that a few children had to suffer. What did she know about suffering? She had apparently lived a pampered, upper-class life. Tragedy to her was probably a broken fingernail.

He pulled into the circular drive of her hotel, opened the door and kept the engine running. He got her luggage from his backseat, where Diesel had placed it earlier, and he handed it to the bellhop. She got out of the car, but stayed by the passenger side door and asked, "Are you going to continue to work with me?"

"I don't know. I might be too tired," he said flippantly. This woman made him act in all sorts of ways that he normally would never act, and say things he normally would never say. He was normally never rude to women, and yet here he was, being rude and more.

She felt his anger. She understood it, but could do nothing about it. Closing the door slowly, Hermione looked up at him, and said, "Well, then, thank you. May I keep this list? I would think your coworker could get you another, correct?" She didn't wait for a response. She folded the list and put it in her purse. She held out her hand. "Thank you for helping me today, Mr. Manoso. I hope you catch your fugitive. You have my cell phone number if you find out anything about my man. If you do, give me a call, won't you?" He looked at her hand, then back at her face.

She lowered her hand slowly when it was apparent that he wasn't going to shake it. She took two steady breaths. His anger rolled off him in waves, though outwardly he remained cool and collected. She knew how things appeared to him, but perhaps this was for the best. Let him think she was a heartless bitch. She got what she needed: a solid clue on the whereabouts of Conrad Bailey. She wasn't here for romance. She wasn't here to polish her imagine for this man. She was here to stop something that she felt she started in the first place.

With an air of finality she said, "Goodbye, Mr. Manoso," and followed the bellhop into the building. Turning toward the car, Ranger didn't glance back at her once. He got in the black SUV and called all his men. They had a lot to do tonight if they were going to stake out as many of these children's homes as they could.

Hermione didn't waste anytime sleeping. She went to her room, ate a quick bite of supper, changed clothes, (Ranger wore black, so she felt inspired to wear all black, too) and she formulated a plan. She couldn't possibly visit all the children on the list, but neither could Conrad. Since she had written the profile on him and his crimes, she developed an idea of exactly whom he might visit tonight. When she had a list of ten to twelve children narrowed down, she went to work.

She went to the individual homes first. She didn't bother using a concealment charm on herself. She merely Apparated to either the back or side yards, put up rudimentary protection wards on the doors and windows, along with something she thought Conrad would associate with her. Above each doorframe she place a Gryffindor tie with the name of her hotel, which would be invisible to a mere Muggle, but which Conrad Bailey would see right away.

After visiting three individual houses, she visited two row houses, although visiting them was somewhat trickier, since they were attached to other houses on each side. Another complication was that she spied a black SUV's parked near one of these houses, which meant Ranger's was on the watch.

Next, she visited a few individual flats. To place wards on these were difficult. She could place wards on the outside doors and windows, and she had Conrad's distinct magical DNA, so she could narrow the wards so that they could expressly forbid only him from entering…but, with flats, she would have rather placed the wards on the individual doors and windows. There was too big a chance that Conrad would find some other way to enter otherwise.

She could Apparate inside these apartment complexes easily enough, and she probably wouldn't be seen, but how would she place wards on the windows? She hated heights, and she didn't have a broom to fly outside the windows in any case, including the fact that a woman flying around on a broom would look slightly odd.

She couldn't scale walls and she didn't have a ladder. She would have to wait until the veil of complete darkness, hope the occupants of the flats were sleeping and then pop into the flats and place the wards inside at that time. It was going to be a long night, because most of the people on her list lived in flats.

She set about placing wards on all of the outside doors and the outside of the doors of each of the flats, and then she hunkered down in an alleyway to wait for midnight. As soon as it hit twelve, she would go into the first flat and work as quickly as she could.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"There's movement in an alleyway, boss," Lester said to Ranger when he called him to check in.

"What sort of movement?" Ranger asked in return.

"I saw someone, dressed all in black, leave the apartment complex on Hudson Avenue, and now they're waiting in the alleyway. It's not one of our people. Maybe they're waiting for the people in the apartment to go to sleep or something. There were four kids from the list who live in this building alone."

"Where are you now?" Ranger asked.

"I'm back over on Vine Street," Lester told him.

Ranger started his vehicle and said, "You take my watch here on Nineth Avenue. I'll be there in a few. What side of the building is this alley?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione wasn't sure, but she thought she smelled urine. She also might have spied a rat. Waiting here in the dark, by herself, reminded her of when she would stand guard over the encampment during the search for Horcruxes with Ron and Harry. That was definitely one of the worst years of her life. The only difference then was she had her wand out. She didn't feel safe having her wand out now, because someone might see her. The problem was she didn't feel safe NOT having her wand out now. Goodness…she did smell urine. She also saw headlights and heard a car parking right outside the front of the apartment complex. She pressed herself closer to the brick wall and walked deeper into the dark alley. At least this person couldn't be Conrad. He would have Apparated, not driven a car.

Ranger parked in the front. He wanted the person in the alley to know he was out here. That was because he was going to come at him from the back. He ran around the building to the left, climbed a low fence, a couple of dumpsters, sunk to the ground, climbed another fence, and then ran quietly through the opposite opening of the alley. He didn't see anyone, but his senses told him someone was there. He pulled out his stun gun.

Hermione's intuition told her someone was behind her. She had learned long ago to trust her instincts. She reached inside her black jeans, pulled out her wand, and whipped around just as a man ran upon her. The man touched her with something at the same time that she pointed her wand at him and said, "Stupefy!"

Ranger and Granger both lay on their backs in the dark, damp alleyway, unconscious.

Ranger came to before Hermione. He sat up and shook his head. He didn't know what hit him, but it felt as if a freight train had rolled over him – twice. He looked around for his stun gun, and then thought better of it and reached down to his ankle holster for his real gun, when he saw her: Hermione Granger, on her back, on the cement of the alleyway, bathed in a small patch of moonlight, her hair fanning around her, her arms around her head, and she was either unconscious or dead.

He quickly rushed to her side. He swore in Spanish and brushed a hand across her cheek, and then to her neck to feel for a pulse. She was alive. Then he realized that SHE was the person he had stunned. He couldn't believe it. What in the world was she doing here, by herself, when she was supposed to be safely in her hotel room, tucked in her bed, like the pampered rich woman that he thought she was! It had all happened so fast. He stunned her, but then what happened to him? He had been stunned before, and he didn't feel like he usually felt after he had been stunned.

He didn't see a stun gun lying next to her. The only thing he saw lying next to her was a skinny, smooth piece of wood, less than a foot long. He picked it up, examined it for a moment, and then feeling it was important, he placed it in his pocket and picked her up. He carried her to his vehicle. Looking down at her, she seemed so small, so lifeless, and so beautiful.

He placed her in the backseat, and crawled in beside her. He held her against his chest, and realized he was still stroking her hair. She should have woken by now. He leaned her gently against the seat and felt her head for injuries. He felt something warm – a liquid – on his hands. Even without turning on the dome light in his car he knew it was blood. What had he done? He was about to take her to the hospital when Diesel opened the car door.

"What did you do to little darling?" Diesel asked, a frown between his eyes.

"Why are you here?" Ranger growled.

"You answer my question first," Diesel demanded. He climbed in the backseat with them, and closed the door. It was now very crowded, though the car was large. Diesel also began to feel around her head. He asked, "Did you hit her on the head?" He held up a bloody hand to Ranger, as if to accuse him.

"No I didn't hit her on the head! I stunned her," Ranger said, knowing that didn't sound any better.

"Oh, when she finds out what you did, you're going to be in so much trouble," Diesel said with a slight laugh.

"In my defense, she did something to me, too," Ranger said, knowing that it still sounded feeble.

"What did she do to you?" the other man asked. He scooped Hermione into his arms, upon his lap. Ranger didn't like that. Not at all. A definitive feeling of possessiveness passed through him. If she was going to be on anyone's lap it should be his.

"I'm not sure, but she knocked me out cold," Ranger relayed. He reached inside his cargo pants' side pocket and withdrew the long stick he picked up from the alleyway. "Is this some sort of weapon?"

"No, but give it to me, okay?" Diesel didn't wait for Ranger to comply. He reached over, grabbed the wand from the other man, and then opened the car door with Hermione still in his arms.

Ranger was out of the car as soon as the other man was. He was by his side and he asked, "Where are you taking her? She's been unconscious for a while now. She needs to go to the hospital."

"I'll heal her," Diesel promised. "Get back in the car."

"What do you mean, you'll 'heal' her? I don't think so," Ranger snarled. "Listen, Diesel, I don't like you and I never have. I've never liked you working with Stephanie, but I've never tried to stop it. But the point is, I don't trust you and I never will. I'm not letting you run off with Hermione. She's hurt and it's my fault."

"Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't have stunned her. Why weren't you with her anyway?" Diesel inquired. "Nevermind. It doesn't matter. When my superiors find out what happened, and tell her superiors, heads will roll. I told you that she was someone important when I asked you to work with her, didn't I? I shouldn't have helped her in the first place, but I'm a softy for a pretty face and a smoking body."

Diesel started back down the alley, and Ranger was about to stop him when he got a call on his phone. It was Tank. Randall Giggley had been spotted. Ranger felt torn. He watched Diesel walk out of sight, carrying Hermione away. He got back in his car and decided to go find his fugitive.

Diesel brought another cold compress to Hermione from her bathroom. He placed it on her head. She moaned and accepted it. Placing it on her head she said, "You must be terrible at healing spells, because my head is still throbbing."

"It was busted almost in two!" he exaggerated. "I think I saw brain matter leaking out! It must be because your brain is larger than most. I'm wonderful at healing spells. I almost became a doctor."

Hermione would have rolled her eyes, but her head hurt too much. "You aren't really going to tell Harry Potter about this, are you?"

Diesel made a funny face but said, "No. I'm more than a pretty face you know. I'm not really stupid. I only pretend to be. Telling your Harry Potter about this would be the ultimate act of stupidity."

He placed her wand on the table beside her bed and said, "But it's best if we let Ranger think you've gone back across the pond. In fact, I'll tell him as much myself tonight. I'll come back tomorrow and help you catch Bailey. The plan to set up wards and protection charms was great. I'll go back and finish the job tonight, and watch out for him, okay? You stay in bed, just for tonight. I mean it. If I find out you disobeyed your doctor's orders, I will tell Harry Potter that you not only went against his edict, but that you're in love with me."

"What?" she barked, her voice a higher pitch than usual. "First, that's poppycock. Harry would never believe that, and it has nothing to do with anything."

He leaned toward her, one hand beside her head, and said, "No, but a man can dream." He wiggled his eyebrows and kissed her forehead. "Now, stay in bed tonight and I'll see you in the morning. We'll find this dude, little darling. I promise."

She bit her lip. She hadn't told him about the fact that she had placed a Gryffindor 'calling card' at each location. She wasn't going to tell him, either. If Conrad found one tonight, it could be over sooner, rather than later. "Thank you, Diesel."

"No problem, little darling. If we don't catch him tonight, there's tomorrow night. Maybe I can stay here with you, in this room tomorrow night?" He winked at her. "I don't take up much room."

"You're as big as a horse and there's only one bed," she complained.

"And your point?" he asked. He laughed and then Disapparated away.

She shook her head but then laughed as well. She couldn't do much more tonight. Her head hurt too much. Perhaps Conrad would find one of her 'calling cards' and seek her out before morning. Just in case, she wanted to be prepared. She took her wand and placed it in the bed with her. She also put up a few more wards on her room. She took a shower and changed into red and black striped sleeping shorts and a red t-shirt. Even with air conditioning, it was going to be a hot night.

She turned an old movie on the telly and called for room service. It was well after midnight. Conrad usually visited the children after midnight. Perhaps he would be here soon.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ranger tried every trick in his book of tricks and he couldn't pick the lock to her hotel room, which was odd. He had never encountered that before. There was never a lock he couldn't pick, a door he couldn't open, or a room he couldn't enter. Curious. He spied room service heading toward her room. Well, if he couldn't enter her room illegally, he would enter it legally, so to speak. He knew she was still in there. He had seen Diesel outside one of the apartment buildings, which meant he was helping her with the case now, which also meant that Ranger must be off the case, at least in her mind.

Of course, what did he expect? He did leave her in anger this evening, and he did stun her earlier, and probably gave her a concussion, and undoubtedly Diesel informed her that her head injury was Ranger's fault. Well, he could just go in there and tell her that he was back on the case, whether she wanted him to be or not.

A few moments later Ranger was knocking on her door.

"Who is it?" she said from inside.

He said from the outside, "Room Service."

_End of Part IV_


	5. Chapter 5

**All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich**

**Part V**

A familiar sounding voice said "Room Service," from the hallway. Hermione instantly grabbed her wand and went to the door. While she knew the voice didn't belong to Conrad Bailey, it was still familiar, causing her alarm. She didn't know why the voice sounded recognizable, but it did, and on the off chance that it was Conrad, she wasn't taking any chances. No one should know she was here. She stood next to the entrance and said, "Leave it in the hall."

"You have to sign for it," Ranger lied.

Hermione grasped her wand tighter, stood behind the door and eased it open slowly, ready to hex the person on the other side. When she saw it was Ranger, she was still ready to hex him. Diesel had explained to her that Ranger was the one that had rendered her unconscious. She stood by the partially closed door. "Why are you here? What do you want? I'm tired, remember? I need my beauty rest and all." She was being a bit snippy, but she felt it was justifiable, having been stunned comatose.

"Yes, but you called for food, and at the moment I'm room service. You ordered…" he picked up the silver lid from the plate, "a spinach omelet and a green salad, as well as pineapple slices." At least she ate healthy. He always ate healthy, but he was used to women who ate donuts as a main course.

She didn't know what to do. Diesel told her that when Ranger stunned her, she had stupefied him in return. Was he here to ask her questions about what happened in the alley? Was he here to ask her why she had lied about going to bed early, or why she had decided to work by herself? Was he working a second job in the food industry? She knew that last one was highly unlikely. She placed her hands flat against the door, her cheek against the smooth, cool wood and said, "Listen, could you leave the food outside in the hall and go? I have a massive headache."

"I don't want to have sex with you, I just want to talk," he replied with a rueful grin.

She threw the door open, shocked, a look of total surprise on her face. She sputtered, astonished, and said, "I didn't assume you wanted, I mean, I didn't think you wanted me, why would you say that? I know you don't want to have sex with me!"

Ranger stared at her a good five seconds and then let out a loud laugh. He pushed his way into her room, pulled the cart in with him, closed and locked the door and said, "I was referring to the fact that you said you had a headache. You know, the old excuse – 'not tonight honey, I have a headache', but goodness, that was priceless." He pulled the cart to the bed, looked at the rumpled sheets, and thought about having sex with her. He stifled a groan as he pulled the lid off her plate, unfolded her napkin, and ordered, "Here, eat your food."

She turned away from him to face the door, certain her face was beet red. She felt her cheeks. They even felt warm. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. She almost jumped a mile.

"Calm down," he said softly. He turned her to him and asked, "Do you really have a headache?"

"That's what normally happens when someone has a concussion. And a concussion is what normally happens when a person's head bounces off the concrete, after being stunned with a stun gun," she accused with hands on hips. Why did he still have his hands on her bare arms, and why were they moving up her arm, then to her shoulders, and now her neck, and up under her hair? And why did they feel so divine moving gently along her scalp?

"You gave as good as you got, you know," he countered. "You knocked me out somehow, too. I didn't see a stun gun, but you used something. I didn't even see you pull anything out, and I was down. Do you realize how crushing that is to my fragile ego? It's been ages since anyone's gotten the best of me." He smiled slightly, even though he was serious.

He pulled her so close that her nose was almost pressed up to the middle of his chest. He looked at the back of her head, his hands gently moving under her hair. She would probably have become undone at that action alone, if it wasn't for the fact that he smelled divine too, a combination of musk and exotic spices and pure unadulterated Ranger.

She stood there, pliant, and allowed him to examine her head. In truth, he was examining so much more. He was trying to decipher what it was about this woman that attracted him so much. It was more than her flawlessly beautiful face, her perfect features that seemed to have been painted by an Italian master, her warm inviting eyes, her full sensual lips, and her mass of curls, which he had encased in his hands at that moment.

It had to be more than the gentle slope of her breasts and the sensual sway of her hips that overwhelmed him and drew him to her. He usually prided himself on his cool aloofness. _He_ was usually the magnet in which others were drawn. He was never once the one that was drawn to someone, at least, not like this and not this much, not this hard, and this fast.

She looked up at him, his fingers continued to cord through her hair, her face tilting up with poise, her eyes full of wonder, her bones delicate, and lips parted. She smiled a small smile, her body weight shifting from one foot to the next. He shifted as well. He was possessed with the want and need and desire to kiss her all over. He also felt as if the entire world was shifting merely because she was in it, and because she existed. As he turned her around to look closer at her head, he decided that she was both a blessing and a curse. If the world stopped spinning and everything ended right now, he would be alright with that, because at least he had gotten to meet her.

Her wide-eyed wonderment at his closeness elated him, but he also noticed that she seemed tired. He tried not to show how much that upset him. He had hurt her, and that hurt him more than it should, and more than he wanted. He felt protective of her already. He didn't just feel protective of her though, he also felt possessive - ruthlessly so.

"Are you really okay?" he asked finally, after having examined her more than was needed, less than he wanted. His hands moved from her head to her neck, turned her back to face him, and then moved back to her shoulders.

"Yes. I guess I should ask you the same," she said.

"About that, what did you use to stun me?" he asked.

She placed her hands up to his wrists, moved them off her shoulders, and lied, "I used a stun gun, too." She really wished Diesel had modified Ranger's memory, but Diesel said that was against their laws, so he didn't. "Now, why are you here?" She moved away from him, sat on the side of the bed, and started to eat, feigning an indifference that she didn't really feel. This man made her feel all sorts of things, some she didn't even understand.

Ranger felt as if she was dismissing him, and that wouldn't fly. She didn't know him well enough to know that he only left a room when he wanted to leave a room. He stifled a smirk and sat next to her. He reached over to her plate and popped a cherry tomato in his mouth. When he reached for another she had the gall to slap his hand with the back of her fork.

He took her fork from her hand and held it high above her head.

"Really? You're going to hold my fork captive?" She picked up a slice of pineapple, pulled it apart with her fingers, and popped a sliver in her mouth. Some of the juice slipped down her fingers. She reached for the napkin. He dropped the fork on the cart and reached the napkin first. He grabbed her hand and though he had the undeniable urge to lick the pineapple juice from her fingers, he wiped it with the napkin instead, and then he handed her the fork.

"Why were you out there by yourself tonight, Granger? Why did you lie to me about coming back to your hotel?" He threw the napkin on the cart in front of them.

She took another bite before she answered. "I don't have to answer that." It sounded more mature in her mind when she decided to say it than when she said it aloud.

He grinned. "I see," he quipped. "Do you want to know what I think?"

"No," she said back. She pushed her partially eaten food away from her, crawled up on the bed, and placed her head on the pillow. She pulled the sheet over her bare legs and closed her eyes. "I really do have a headache and I'm tired. You can go."

"You shouldn't sleep with a concussion," he commanded seriously. He kicked off his shoes. He didn't know why he was bothering, but he wasn't going to leave her, and he WAS going to get the truth from her. He moved to sit beside her on the bed, found the remote to the television, and turned it to the news.

Sitting up she asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm your nurse, just for the night. I'm responsible for your injury, so I've decided to be responsible for your recovery." He wanted to say more, but he wouldn't, yet. He finally asked, "Were you going to try to catch your fugitive yourself? Did you decide you didn't need my help after all?"

She moaned. She really didn't want to have this conversation, ON HER BED, with him, right now! She moved to her back, her legs bent at the knees, the sheet falling to the side. He stared at her bare legs, curiously. They were beautiful, slim and creamy white. He didn't want her to catch him staring, but she had her eyes covered with one arm. His gaze went from her legs up to her chest. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, and then stared for a moment at her beautiful breasts. He wanted to pull her to him, cover her body with his, and kiss her passionately. Instead, he leveled the remote toward the television, turned down the sound, and waited for her answer.

She said, "It's my fight, not yours. I thought I would be more successful working by myself, than with you."

"Really?" he said without emotion.

Her arm slipped slowly from her face. She moved to her side, toward him. She placed one hand under her head, to prop her head on her pillow. "Yes, really."

She knew she would have to be judicious with the next thing she said to him. She couldn't reveal the truth to him, but she could tell him part of it. "I thought perhaps I would let Conrad somehow know that I was here, after him. I wanted to present myself up as an offering to him. I knew the chance to get at me, alone, would be too good for him to pass up. I assumed he would go after me. Then I would be able to arrest him."

Anger coursed through every fiber of Ranger's soul but he learned long ago to keep his anger in check, so he did so now. He turned his head toward her and said, "A sacrificial lamb, huh? How noble of you. And what a tasty little morsel you'd make to Bailey. But were you so sure you could take him on all by yourself? If that was the case, why did you come to me in the beginning, if you didn't need me?"

He inched his way to the edge of the bed. He threw his feet to the floor and placed his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. If something had happened to her, someone would have paid dearly. He would have never forgiven himself, and he would have killed whoever hurt her.

She reached over and touched his back with the tips of her fingers. He flinched, so she withdrew them quickly. He turned just as quickly, and suddenly he straddled her body, his full weight on her, his hands holding her wrists in vise-like grips, before she even realized he had moved from the edge of the bed.

"What would you have done if he had overpowered you, like I'm doing now, Granger? What would you have done if he had a gun, or a knife? He has to be using some sort of tranquilizer on these kids! What if he had pumped you full of tranquilizers, and then raped you, tortured you, or killed you? Just because you're fast with a stun gun doesn't mean you're a match for a mad man like this Conrad Bailey!" He continued to breathe hard, leaning down on her, nose to nose, his hot breath on her face.

He saw some panic in her eyes, along with fury. He knew he also saw desire, because it mirrored the look in his own. Looking back down at her chest, he closed his eyes, to either memorize or block out the sight of her round breasts pressed tight against her camisole shirt, her cleavage inches from his chest. He wanted to scare her. He wanted to warn her. He wanted to…not want her so very much, but he did.

"Things aren't always as they appear," she answered cryptically. "I can take care of myself."

"I don't doubt that. I'm not some Neanderthal who thinks women aren't as good as men, but men are stronger than women. It's a fact." He loosened his grip on her wrists slightly, but didn't let go. He continued to straddle her waist.

"Physical strength is one thing, but there's intelligence," she reasoned, trying with all her might to get out of his grasp. She wasn't afraid of Ranger. She was vexed that he thought he could overpower her, and she was equally cross that she desired him so much.

"I believe you're ten times smarter than me, sweetheart, but just try to use your intelligence and brain to get out of my grasp," he mocked.

"Let go!" she hissed instead. She knew she was no match for this man, physically, and the longer he stayed on top of her, the longer she wanted him to stay on top of her. She also wanted to prove to him that she actually COULD use her mind to get away from him if she really wanted.

Ranger moved one leg, but only so he could lie beside her. He then placed the leg he moved between her legs, which were tangled in the top sheet. He placed both her hands over her head, in one of his, and with his other he held her chin, lightly. He forced her to look at him.

"You did a profile on the jerk," he began, "you know better than anyone what he did to those kids, the way he tortured them, the pain he caused them. Imagine what he would have done to you, especially if he holds you responsible for some stupid transgression from your past. You don't know torture like that, and believe me; you don't want to know it!"

"I'm not some privileged woman sitting high up in an ivory tower, who's never known pain or hurt," Hermione spat. She struggled for freedom. He moved to press her harder against the bed. "I know suffering! I know torture!"

"What, a torn fingernail and a failed relationship or two makes you an expert on suffering and torture?" he asked flippantly.

She turned her head away from him. She thought she might hate this man right now. How dare he presume to know her? He was making assumptions about her, and it made her angry! She was so tired of people constantly making assumptions about her. All her life that was the way things were…Purebloods thought she wasn't as good as them because she was a Mudblood…People in her field thought she got where she was because she was Harry Potter's friend.

A tear escaped her eye and went down her cheek, and that made her despise the man on top of her even more. She didn't want to appear weak, and tears made her seem weak, even if these were tears of righteous anger, and not defeat or fear.

He used the index finger of his free hand to capture the stray tear before it could hit the pillow. She turned back to him. He was moving his head back and forth, in a condescending way, and he said, "I'm sorry to be so forthcoming and strong-armed with you, but sweetheart, someone has to be truthful with you."

"And someone has to be truthful with you, too," she said softly. She didn't need her wand to do most magic, especially this spell. This was a spell of her own making. She had devised it long ago, right after the war with Voldemort. She told only Harry and Ron about it. She said she often wished there was an 'empathy' spell…or a way to make people 'feel' the pain that they had inflicted on others, or 'to see' that pain. In the case of Ranger, she didn't want him to 'feel' her pain, but in her anger at his assumption that she had lived a sheltered, life of advantage, she wanted him to 'see' some of the pain she had suffered.

She didn't care if that meant he knew she was a witch or not. Looking right in his eyes, she said an incantation, "Empathize compassionate amorist".

At first he didn't know what was happening to him. He moved off her, then away from her side, off the bed, down to the floor. His hands covered his head as everything came to him in rapid succession, like a movie that was on 'fast forward' yet he caught every nuance. He understood each and every moment as if he was an active participant. He saw this woman as a girl, being teased and bullied. He saw her doing things that frightened him, amazed him, and that appalled him. He saw her fight men much older than she. He saw her in some sort of battle, blinding light slashing through the darkness. He saw a man slice at her, and she fell, wounds on her arms and stomach.

He saw her alone and afraid in a forest. He saw her battling a giant snake. Images continued to assault him. He wasn't afraid, he knew they weren't happening to him, but he also knew that they had once actually happened to her, and he felt shame for telling her that she had never suffered. He was about to beg her to stop the 'nightmare' when he saw the worst scene of all…A crazed woman - wild hair, men in dark garb standing around laughing - and this beautiful woman, still a girl in his mind's eye, writhing on the floor, screaming in agony, pain slicing throughout every fiber of her body.

Then the images just stopped. Ranger had to take a steady breath to calm down. He had been through war. He had killed men. He had almost been killed more times than he wanted to count, yet he had to admit, if only to himself, that he felt a bit shaken. She had scooted off the bed to kneel beside him as he sat with his back against the mattress. He looked at her and shook his head, feeble words in his brain not reaching his mouth. He didn't understand.

She placed a hand on his arm. "I'm so sorry," she said, "I should never have done that. That was reprehensible of me. My anger got the best of me. Please, please forgive me." She cupped his cheek and another tear slid down her face, then she began to sob in earnest.

The sight of her crying before him broke his resolve.

_She wanted him to forgive her?_ The mere thought sounded mad to his ears. He reached for her hand, moving it from his face. He held it in his and asked, "What was that? What did you do to me?" Before she could answer, he asked a question that sounded odder, but begging to be asked, "And what are you? You're like him, Diesel, aren't you?"

She nodded. "I'm a witch. You can't tell anyone. Conrad is a wizard." She didn't know what else to say to this man in front of her. He still held her hand. He looked at it, then back at her face. "Ranger, please, say something."

He shook his head. He had nothing to say, though he had something else to ask. "The thing you did to me…the things you made me see, were they real? Did all that really happen to you?"

She nodded. Her humble affirmation shamed him. He was ashamed of thinking that she was pampered, and that she had never suffered, and had never known pain or hurt or fear. She was the bravest woman he had ever met. He pulled her roughly to his chest. She fell awkwardly across his lap and legs. He brushed her hair away from her cheek with the tips of his finger, and then he kissed one cheek softly, then the other. The softness of his kisses made her cry and breathe harder. She wanted him to say something more.

He really had nothing else to say.

He moved somewhat ineptly to his knees, not wanting to lose his hold on her. He kept her against his chest as he rose to his feet. He placed her softly on the bed, and then when she turned to face him, he placed his body next to hers. She felt safer than she had ever felt with the heat of his body next to her. She closed her eyes as he pulled her over to his chest. She felt his heartbeat, listened to his breathing, and stopped crying almost immediately.

One of his hands stroked her hair and back, the other rubbed her arms. He said, "I'm sorry that you've suffered so much in your life." Hermione didn't reply. Instead, she moved slightly, a leg going over one of his. Her graceful fingertips moved up his chest to his face, where she stroked his cheek, his chin, his eyes.

The scent of her filled him and was almost too much to bear. His mind continued to reel with the realization of what he had experienced, and knowing that she had lived through it all. He was equally shocked with the mind-numbing fact that he accepted it all without question.

Finally, she said, "I'll be in so much trouble if anyone finds out I did a spell on you, or that I told you that I'm a witch."

She was in trouble, alright, but not the type she assumed. He moved them both at the same time, so that she was once again on her back, and he loomed over her. "Ranger?" she questioned. "Are you going to tell anyone what I just told you?"

Being a man of few words, he said a quick, "No," and then he brushed his lips lightly against hers.

She seemed shocked. She pushed up against his chest. "Ranger?" she said again, the second time she had used his name as a question.

"Sh," he hushed, silencing her with another kiss. This kiss stole her breath. He lifted his head again, looked down at her and smiled. His smile almost stole her breath, too.

"I have to know that you won't tell," she insisted.

This time, he laughed before he leaned forward to tease her lips with his. This kiss was different. It was careful, planned, and full of truth. He wouldn't tell a soul her secret, but he had a secret of his own, and he revealed it in that one, deep kiss. He sought to soothe her former pain, her fears, and her questions with this kiss. He wanted to distract her. He intended to seduce her, so he also wanted her to know what was to come.

Pleasure trickled from him to her and back again. Whatever he meant to tell her with this kiss, she understood. He moved his lips from hers, down her neck to her pulse. His hand moved up to cup a breast, his thumb rubbing across the tip. He murmured, "Do you believe me?" He sat up and moved slightly away from her.

"Believe?" she asked, the same way she had questioned his name earlier. He smiled. Her heart felt as if it was in her throat, her eyes on his face, her mouth moist from the heat of his kiss, her body cold, bereft from the warmth of his.

He stood only long enough to remove his shirt and pants. He was back on the bed in no time at all. Yes, he would make her believe.

_End of Part V_


	6. Chapter 6

_*All characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich and I make no money from the writing or publishing of this story. Thank you._

* * *

**Part VI**

Ranger took off his shirt. He folded it neatly and placed it on a chair in the corner of the room. He removed his shoes, his gun and holster, and lastly, his trousers. He placed the rest of the clothing on top of the shirt, and brought his gun over to the bedside table. The long piece of wood that he found in the alleyway earlier was also there. He knew it was significant, because he saw it in her memories. He placed his gun beside it, and then stood before her in only his shorts, and Hermione found it hard to tear her eyes off him.

The man before her was unbearably beautiful. He was beautiful on the outside, but something deep in her soul told her that he was beautiful on the inside as well. A lovely silence filled the air as he lay beside her. All the pieces of her life suddenly seemed to fit together, just when they should be falling apart. His strength gave her strength. His hope gave her hope. She had known him only a day, yet she felt as if she had known him all her life.

Still, this wasn't something she normally did. He reached out to touch her. She grabbed his hand and held it in hers. "This isn't something I normally do," she warned.

He was quiet for a beat then said, "Hold hands?" He brought her hand to his lips, kissed it with an open-mouth, wet kiss, right on her knuckles, then held it next to his chest.

"I don't sleep with men I barely know," she elaborated.

"I don't sleep with men I barely know, either, so we have that in common," he said with a slight grin.

She tried to smile, but instead she took a deep breath. "Please, understand what I'm trying to say," she pleaded. She tore her hand from his, fell on her back, and covered her face with her hands.

There was an understanding that passed between them after that, because Ranger knew she wasn't saying "No", but rather she was saying, "This is special". He liked that. It was special to him, too. Regardless what everyone thought, Ranger didn't have sex with just anyone. He didn't have sex unless he cared for the person deeply, or felt a deep connection to them. Even though he barely knew this woman, he _felt he knew her._ He knew her soul, her heart and her mind, and he wanted to know her intimately.

"I understand," he said, because he did. There wasn't much more to say. He rubbed his fingertips across her hands, and then removed them from her face. He smiled at her, to give her encouragement, and also, to show her how much he cared. He leaned forward and kissed her lips briefly, then said, "This is special." He reached down and removed his shorts.

She couldn't help it. Once again, she had to stare at him. His legs were all muscle, his chest well defined that resembled a Greek statue. She was in awe, at _everything_ about this man.

She sat up and started to remove her shirt. Her arm crossed over her stomach to reach for the hem, but he brought a hand over to hers to still it.

"Not yet," he whispered.

"It's not fair," she said in all sincerity, but without one hint of coyness. "I get to see you and you don't get to see me." She wasn't being flirtatious or enticing. He loved that she honestly felt there was inequality in their state of 'undress'. He almost wanted to laugh.

Then he flashed her that wonderful smile. The look in his eyes captivated her, held her still. He sat up, his hand touching the soft cotton. "It's my right, my privilege, to remove your clothes, Hermione. And it's your right to refuse to do so, if you decide to change your mind. At any time."

"I don't even know what I'm doing," she said softly. "Like I said, I don't do this type of thing." She fell on her back and closed her eyes in embarrassment. When she felt his hand on her face, she opened them again.

He raised one eyebrow and smiled. "Ever? Gee, It's been a while since I've deflowered a virgin." He was teasing her.

She placed both hands on her face in embarrassment again, laughed, and explained, "You know what I mean."

Pulling one hand away, he leaned down and said, "I'm very sure that I do. I also know that even if you don't know what you're doing, I do, and this is right, and it's going to happen. It's inevitable. It was going to happen since the first moment I met you." The entire time he spoke, his hand crept underneath her camisole and was drawing lazy circles on her bare skin. His fingertips brushed the underside of her aching breasts.

The feel of his hand, and the soft cotton rubbing against her sensitive nipples caused a deluge of sensations to descend upon her. She had to will herself to hold his gaze, and not simply close her eyes and whimper.

He continued to lie next to her, propped up on one elbow, next to her hip, while she lay on her back. His hand went from her bare stomach to the elastic top of her sleeping shorts. His fingertips rimmed the top, and then went smoothly over her hipbone to find the opening at the leg. Fingers softly skimmed the skin of her inner thigh and then his hand went up the leg hole of the shorts, and he was touching the bare skin over her pelvic bone.

His touch was still light, but controlled. His eyes were now watching his hand. Her eyes were watching his. The whole thing seemed staged, rehearsed, almost practiced. It was painstakingly slow, but incredibly sensual. He had yet to touch her anywhere 'R' rated, yet everything felt so glorious and wonderful.

"Are you content to merely watch, Hermione?" he asked with a lazy grin. His hand came out from under her shorts and went up to cup her hip. It went slowly down and around to her bottom, cupped it and squeezed, then back up her side, around her left breast, to come and rest over her heart.

"Until you kiss me, I'll just watch," she said.

"Ah… you want a kiss?" he questioned. "You only had to ask."

"I shouldn't have to ask," she teased back.

"You could beg," he said, leaning close, his lips almost on hers.

She smiled. "You don't know this about me, Mr. Manoso, so let me clarify something for you. I never beg for anything. I won't plead, request, or supplicate. If I want something, I just take it." She placed both hands on the back of his head, pulling him closer, and she placed her mouth on his, but just like he did, she didn't move it – yet.

Instead, she whispered on his mouth, "If I want to kiss you, I will. If you want to kiss me, you'll ask permission first."

He laughed. "Like hell I will." He plunged her mouth with his. It was a fierce, hungry, wanting kiss. He placed his body on hers, and savored every inch of her mouth, her tongue, her teeth, the roof, her palate. If he could have touched her tonsils, he would have.

She held his shoulders, pressed on his back, pulled at his hair. The feel of his hard arousal on her hip and thigh was intoxicating to her. She ached with need for it. She had never wanted a man this much. He finally pulled away, though she tried to hold him still.

He only pulled away long enough to pull her shirt off. Then he crouched by her hips and pulled down her shorts, quickly and effortlessly. His hands traveled back up her body, starting at her feet, to her ankles, calves, knees, thighs, and then rested on her hips.

She wanted them on her breasts.

He studied her. His gaze was empowerment personified. It made her feel glorious. She felt almost like a goddess. She felt wanted and worshipped. He gave her strength, merely with his stare. At first she felt awkward, but now it felt right.

"You are incredibly beautiful, Hermione. I mean that. I want you so much." He leaned forward, his hands went to her waist, and he kissed her stomach near her navel. She shivered.

His hands moved from her waist, to cup her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples and the area around them. She finally closed her eyes. Her hips moved on their own. She reached up and let her hand touch his chest, but then it fell back down on the bed when he leaned forward and his tongue laved over one taut nipple.

A shiver of pleasure went to her very core, followed by what felt like an electrical storm. His tongue moved to the other breast, did the same to it, and then he sucked and nipped and pulled the tight bud into his mouth.

She whimpered. She was in pain. He sensed it. She felt an almost chaotic need that caused her equal parts misery and equal parts pleasure. It was tender, sweet, and emotional. She wanted his mouth to be everywhere. She wanted his hands everywhere. She wanted him inside her, around her, beside her.

He placed a hand between her legs and did nothing more than press down, almost to comfort her burning ache. His face came back to hers for another deep kiss. Her legs parted and he continued to kiss her.

He left her mouth to kiss her cheeks, her neck, her breasts and stomach. Large hands moved as well. Without saying a word, his head moved lower and his lips went elsewhere, to taste a secret place that he longed to taste, as his arms gently lifted her hips to accommodate him.

She cried out, but he didn't stop. His mouth and lips continued to probe and tease and kiss her, and she thought she might die from the glorious awakening he was bestowing upon her.

Suddenly, he was no longer between her legs. She felt his full weight on her body, and it felt warm and right. He pressed deeply into her, filling her completely, entering her slowly but surely. The completion of it shocked her to her very soul.

He couldn't believe the passion in this woman. He couldn't restrain his want and desire for her. Everything fell away when he was with her: His guard, his pretense, everything. She was in control, because he would not even be here without her. He thrust in and out, deeply, and he concentrated on the way she looked when he was pleasuring her, knowing he wouldn't last too much longer. The last coherent thought he had before he reached his tumultuous peak was that he wanted this woman to be his forever, but the reality of it was that he might not see her ever again after this, and that truth hit him like a ton of bricks just as he started to climax.

On her part, she was captivated by this man, and she easily conquered his passion. Each thrust joined them together, and brought her to the height of desire, and soon, everything around her melted away. She screamed underneath him. She wanted to be bound to this man – joined like this, forever – even if it was only in her dreams.

Then something happened to Ranger that had never happened in his life. He screamed, too. He had never in his life screamed during sex. Perhaps this scream was for a multitude of reasons. Perhaps it was a scream of desire. Perhaps it was a scream of warning, or impending loss, foretelling the things that he already knew he was about to lose.

The pulsing stopped and he collapsed upon her, her arms around him, both of them tired and spent.

He didn't want to speak. What would he say? He was usually a man of little words. He felt actions spoke louder than words. He didn't need to tell her how he felt, what he thought, what he wanted, what he needed… because he had just showed her.

Eyes closed, Hermione fell into a deep sleep. Ranger smiled down at her. He extricated himself from her arms, slipped on his clothing, and went to the bathroom. When he came back into the room he checked the time. It was after three in the morning. It was too late for him to try to catch Conrad Bailey tonight. He usually attacked the children sometime between one and two.

They always had tomorrow. He and Hermione could spend the day together, and make plans of how to catch these creeps. Ranger wanted to call Tank, Hal or Lester, to see if any of his men had any luck finding Giggly or Bailey. He stepped back into the bathroom, pulled out his phone, and dialed Hal first.

He pulled the door up, leaving it open only a small crack. The room outside the bathroom was dark, and the light was on behind him, but it was dim. Hal had just answered the phone when Ranger saw it – a white, blinding flash of light in the outer room. He closed his phone before he said a word, dropped it in his pocket, and reached for his gun, but it wasn't there. He hadn't put his gun back on yet. It was still on the nightstand.

He opened the door slowly. The flash of white, blinding light only lasted a second, so it was already gone. The room was black again. The room was eerily empty. He looked over at the bed… it too was empty, the sheets rumpled. Hermione was gone. He walked over to the bed in a panic, and he saw a gold and yellow striped tie on the pillow. Holding it in his hand, he wondered what it meant.

He turned to get his gun off the bedside stand. He had to find her! He picked up his gun, along with what he assumed was her wand, which also lay next to his gun on the table.

Then, he called Diesel. He hated that he needed that man, but apparently he did, because if this Bailey creep was a wizard, then for the first time in his life, Ranger might be in over his head.

_End of Part VI_


	7. Chapter 7

***all characters belong to JK Rowling and Janet Evanovich**

**Part VII**

Ranger opened the bathroom door slightly and white, blinding light, which seemed to come out of nowhere, flashed in the room and then it was gone almost as soon as it appeared. When he stepped out into the bedroom he noticed that it was empty, jarringly so. He looked over at the bed and it was empty, also. The sheets were still disheveled from where he had just shared the most passionate lovemaking of his life, but the woman with whom he shared this lovemaking was gone.

Feeling a constriction in his chest, Ranger walked over to the bed and he saw a gold-and-red striped tie on the pillow. Holding it in his hand, he wondered what it meant. He turned to get his gun off the bedside stand. He picked up his gun, in a panic, along with what he assumed was Hermione's wand, which lay next to the gun on the table. Damn. Bailey had Hermione. It was the only conclusion he could make. The man was a wizard. She was a witch. And for the first time in his life, Ranger didn't know quite what to do, so he called Diesel.

* * *

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* * *

Waking up in a foreign place, the first thing Hermione thought was that everything hurt. Her head hurt, her back hurt, and her shoulder felt as if it had been kicked by a herd of hippogriffs. She felt a sense of dread and vulnerability. She didn't know where she was, but she knew who took her and why. It was that damn tie she left for Bailey. She left it as a 'calling card' so he would know she was here. It was also a sort of beacon, or homing device, and it led him right to her, and then she wasn't prepared. Damn.

When she woke earlier, having slept only a short while after having made love to the most physically beautiful man she had ever met, all she could do was stare at him. The man beside her was a mystery. He had accepted her explanation that she was a witch without question. He didn't flinch. He didn't act as if she were mad or a lunatic. He didn't ask her inane questions or make stupid comments. Even the memories that she thrust upon him with her 'empathy spell', while jarring to him, was acknowledged as truth.

He accepted it as a painful part of her past, but he still accepted it. She stared down at him and fought the urge to reach over and touch his hair. She wanted to wake him again so that they might make love once more. Being cautious instead, she tiptoed to the bathroom, cleaned up and used the toilet, then came back to lie beside him.

She watched him some more. She didn't know a thing about him. She decided to use Legilimency on him while he slept. He would never know it, it wouldn't harm him, and she thought it only fair. He knew so much about her now, and she knew hardly anything about him.

She didn't need her wand for this either. Even though she knew this man's mind was strong, she also felt in her heart it would open easily for her. She touched his cheek, closed her eyes, and said, "_Legilimency."_

His past came to her in a kaleidoscope of colourful memories. Some were painful, some were passionate, some were cruel, and some were courageous. He had suffered in his life almost as much as she had. He had loved and lost. He had lived an honorable, rewarding, giving, audacious life. Hermione felt privileged to have shared a passionate moment with such a man. She smiled and laid her head back on the pillow next to him. She could so easily fall in love with this man. She wouldn't, but she could.

He continued to sleep, perfectly still, barely moving. She gave in to temptation and touched his hair. It was so black. Black as night, and just as she thought, it was soft and silky. She let her fingertips travel down his cheek, rough with a day's growth of beard. She saw him stir, so she feigned sleep. When she sensed he got up to go to the bathroom, she quickly got out of bed. She wasn't sure why, but she wanted to slip her pajamas back on before he got back. Perhaps because he slipped his shorts on before he went to the bathroom.

She found her clothes folded neatly next to his. She smiled when she thought of how he helped her divest of them. She slipped the sleeping shorts on first, and then the tight, black, camisole. She was about to get back into bed when she heard the pop of someone Apparating into the room.

Knowing that sound anywhere, and immediately knowing it was wrong to hear it when she had placed up numerous wards, she cursed herself in hindsight when she saw a flash of bright, white light. Then an all too familiar pain hit her like a thousand pin cushions being shot out of a cannon. She felt the pull of someone Disapparating away with her. Then everything else ceased until this moment, when she awoke, afraid and utterly alone, in a barren white room void of anything but herself.

* * *

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* * *

Diesel came as soon as Ranger called him. Not many people had a way of calling the elusive man, but Ranger did. He had only ever called on him one other occasion… once, when Stephanie was in danger. Now, here he was, calling the other man again when another woman Ranger cared for was in danger. It made Ranger feel small, useless, and inconsequential…three things Ranger rarely ever, IF EVER, felt.

Diesel knocked on the outside hotel room door a mere three minutes after Ranger called him. Ranger would have been shocked at the speed in which he appeared, except after last night, with Hermione's memories, he now knew about wizards and 'Apparating', so he understood that time and transportation meant different things to different people. He swung open the door and the large blond man gave him a disappointed look.

"She's gone?" he asked.

Ranger, who by this time was fully dressed and had made the bed as well, nodded and held up the striped tie. "This was left behind."

Diesel almost growled. "Yes, I found several of them last night at different houses of the children on the list you gave me. I suspect Granger left them behind."

"How are they significant? Does it have to do with Bailey?" he asked.

Diesel nodded. "Significant, yes, but they have nothing to do with Bailey. Granger left them FOR Bailey, so he would have a way to find her. First, what do you know about Hermione?" Diesel wasn't sure what he could tell Ranger and what he couldn't.

"I know everything," Ranger revealed. It wasn't quite true, but the memories she showed him gave him a quick 'picture show' of her life. He had pieced everything together quite well, and now had a thorough understanding of her life and her world.

The other man told Ranger, "She went to a school called Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There were four houses, we would call them dorms. Her house colors were gold and red." He held up the tie. "I don't know what house Bailey was in, but she had to have left this as a way to let him know that she was here. She was using herself as bait, to draw him away from the kids and to herself."

"Stupid woman!" Ranger spat.

"No," Diesel said. "Really, it was brilliant, and took loads of courage. I examined one of the ties, and well, she put a sort of 'homing device' on it. If a mere Muggle picked one up, nothing would have happened. If Bailey picked it up, again really, I don't think anything would have happened, except of course, if he realized it was from her, then the magic of the tie would activate and it would draw him to her. Here. To this hotel room. She must have put up numerous protection wards to make sure he couldn't enter any other way, but I suspect her guard was down, or she thought he wouldn't find any of the ties tonight, so she wasn't expecting him."

He gave Ranger an accusatory look. Ranger already felt guilty enough. Although, really, even if they hadn't made love, Granger would have been in no condition to fight that man with her head injury, would she have? He knew that thought was a meager argument at best. She must have forgotten for a moment, plain and simple, and it was because he distracted her.

His earlier thought remained. It was his fault.

Diesel wasn't aware of the internal war going on inside Ranger's brain, so he continued to speak. "Still, knowing how smart she is, I would have thought she would have also made it so that if he was drawn here, by the tie or whatever, that she would have placed some other wards up so that he wouldn't be able to leave. Surely she would have. Which means that Bailey overrode her wards. It's the only conclusion I can make. He has her."

Ranger snarled and said, "Dammit, it doesn't matter, does it? How do we find her?"

Just then, Ranger's phone rang. He opened it with a mere flick of his wrist. "What?" he barked as a greeting.

"It's me, boss," Lester said. "Hal and I found Giggly early this morning. He's dead. We've already called the cops. The thing is, he doesn't have a mark on his body so I'm not sure how he died. The other odd thing is, well…"

"What?" Ranger asked, annoyed and frustrated. He was hoping they would find Giggly so that the evil dentist would lead them to his accomplice. A dead dentist wouldn't be of any help at all.

"He's totally naked, boss, except for a tie. I swear he has a tie on and not a stitch of clothing."

Ranger looked at Diesel. The other man could also hear the conversation. Ranger asked, "A red and gold tie?"

"Yeah, how did you know?"

Ranger flipped the phone closed without saying another word.

"Man, bummer about that," Diesel said.

The next thing he knew he was pushed up against the wall. Ranger had his arm under the other man's neck, exerting pressure. Diesel was tall, broad, big, and apparently magical. Ranger was tall, muscular, and hell bent to find a woman who for some odd reason meant the world to him after only one day. Diesel decided to tread softly.

He placed his hands on Ranger's arm and said, "Hey dude, back up a bit. I can't breathe."

Ranger didn't.

"Fine, but if I suffocate from the pressure of your arm on my neck, you'll never find her," the other man managed to say.

Ranger let off some pressure, but not all of it. "What do you suggest we do, you piece of shit?" Ranger asked.

"That's not nice to call me names," Diesel said in all seriousness. He pushed Ranger away easily, although it was only because Ranger let himself be pushed away so easily. Diesel's eyes brightened and he said, "Hey, call your associate back. If the cops aren't there yet, tell him to get that damn tie off Giggly's neck. It might help us find the man who put it there."

Moments later, Tank was at the motel room door with a tie in his hand. Ranger grabbed the tie, said not a word to him, and closed the door in his face. Tank knew not to question the other man at times like these.

Ranger handed the tie to Diesel. Diesel said, "Okay, now I need the last thing Little Darlin' might have touched."

Without prelude, Ranger went to the bed, threw back the bedspread and said, "The sheets."

"Dude," Diesel said with a slight smile that was full of awe and admiration.

"Yes, I know," Ranger said with a sad smile.

* * *

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* * *

Hermione felt searing pain again. She didn't know where it was coming from, but it was there and then gone again. When she opened her eyes the first thing she saw was the flash of a perfect, white smile. How apropos. Her heart jammed in her throat as she realized to whom that smile belonged. Conrad Bailey. He patted her arm and with that perfect smile still painted on his face he said, "I promise, this will only hurt like hell for an eternity, and then you'll die."

He turned away from her, and suddenly, she was no longer in the small white room, void of furniture or windows. She was now in what could only be described as an examination room. She was on a gurney of some sort. It was metal, with no padding. It was hard against her back and legs and head. It was cold, too. She was still wearing her pajamas, but she also had a paper bib on, similar to the type worn at dentist offices.

She realized what was about to occur.

The gurney became a dentist chair, magically. Everything was quiet as Conrad busied himself by a tray of instruments. The only noise Hermione heard was the swish of water that continuously flowed in the little basin beside her chair. Bailey had his back to her. He had on a long, white robe.

Finally, he began to speak, without turning around to face her. "You know, when I was a child, and I had to go to the dentist, the thing that scared me the most was all the metal instruments. And they never explained what anything was, or what they did."

He turned to her. "I was also scared of the fact that they wore gloves," he said, while pulling on a pair of green, latex gloves. "To me, I imagined that perhaps the dentists were really some type of monsters who wore gloves to hide their talons, or claws, or something. Then they would hide their faces with masks, and sometimes, they even wore little goggles over their eyes. It was horrifying and frightening, you know."

Yes, she knew.

He turned on a large, double light. He shined it right in her eyes. She had to squint. "The bright lights always scared me, too. They hurt my eyes. The sound of the drill was the worst, though." He picked up a drill and the sound whirled in the room, echoing off the four walls, magnified by magic.

He moved closer, drill in hand. She kept her mouth closed. "Were you scared of the dentist when you were young, Hermione?" he asked softly, as if he was asking her if she wanted a cup of tea.

She shook her head no.

"No, of course not, your parents were dentists. Were they evil at home, too? Did they torture you? Beat you? Do unspeakable things to you? Did they try out all their evil things on you before they did them to their patients?" he asked. The drill hovered near her cheek.

Her hands were bound to the armrests of the dental chair by leather straps. She wanted to smack the drill away. She was afraid to open her mouth, but she was angry at the fact that he was saying disparaging things against her parents, whom she knew were good dentists, kind people, and wonderful parents.

"My parents were good people," she finally said. The fact that she spoke seemed to shock him. He stepped back slightly, drill still in hand. "They were also very gentle with their patients. I know they did explain things to the children they treated. I'm sorry you had one bad experience and that they weren't able to help you, but magic eventually restored your teeth, you know."

"SO THAT ERASES ALL MY YEARS OF SUFFERING?" he shouted, dropping the drill and grabbing her upper arms. His fingertips, still in the latex gloves, dug painfully into her skin.

"It doesn't lessen it at all," she said with an even voice. "It was horrible that you had an accident, and it was a tragedy that they couldn't restore your teeth and that you were teased and bullied. No one should have to suffer through that. It's a travesty. No one knows what you went through."

"You think you're going to get me to soften up because you're going to say something like you did when you were a kid?" he said with an ideal grin. His grip did loosen slightly, but he still hovered over her. The light was still bright behind his face. It still blinded her eyes. "Back then, you thought if you came to me and said, 'Hey, I was teased too, I had an overbite,' that it would make us commiserate together, and be buddies? But an overbite is nothing! I lost my front teeth, and though your parents offered to fix it for free, they couldn't! They were limited in their abilities, weren't they? And my parents couldn't afford dentures or partials! They couldn't afford fancy dental work, so I had to suffer! I had to endure years of torment before I went to Hogwarts and they were able to help me with magic! And no one would have ever known about it there! No one would have ever teased or tormented me again, if it wasn't for YOUR BIG MOUTH!"

He picked the drill off the floor, and said, "No time to sanitize it, oh well, I don't suppose you'll survive this anyway. Open wide, Hermione. It will only hurt until you die!"

She kept her mouth closed and turned her head. She began to cry. He held her chin and placed the drill beside her mouth. He said, "Finally, I get my payback on you, bitch!"

She suddenly wanted to ask him how torturing all those innocent children was payback against her. She looked him right in the eyes, and immediately thought of her Empathy Spell. Opening her mouth, she said, _"Empathize Compassionate Amorist."  
_  
Conrad suddenly dropped the drill again. It banged against the chair, and then the floor, and it whizzed against the tiles before it stopped moving. Conrad stared at her, a blank look on his face at first, then the look became concern, then torturous, then pained.

He began to breathe heavy. His hands went to his open mouth. He cried out. "STOP IT! STOP IT!" He flew around the room in a rage, knocking over instruments and trays. He tore down a set of blinds, went to the window, and banged against it, still yelling, "NO! STOP IT!"

Hermione stared and gasped. Was he asking 'her' to stop the spell, or was he asking the pain of the spell to stop… the agony that he was seeing, the pain he was reliving, the pain he was feeling on behalf of all those children at his own hand?

That was it. Because he finally said, "MY GOD! Make him stop!" He collapsed on the floor, holding his head. He rocked back and forth, crying.

Hermione closed her eyes. She couldn't witness it any longer. She opened her eyes only when she heard the door open. The sound of it broke her concentration and the spell ended. It didn't matter. Conrad was already incapacitated long before she broke the connection of the spell.

Diesel went to Bailey and literally picked him up from the floor. Ranger went to Hermione. She looked up at him and a tear slipped down her cheek. He captured the tear with the tip of his finger before he pulled out a knife and cut the leather straps that held her wrists and legs to the chair.

Diesel looked at Hermione as he held Conrad upright, and said, "What the hell did you do to him?"

She looked back at Ranger and said, "The Empathy Spell. He thought he was the only person to ever suffer, but his suffering was almost trivial and insignificant compared to what he made those children endure. I had to do it. I had to make him feel it, see it, live it. I had to."

Ranger nodded, because he understood, and even agreed with her.

Hermione looked back at Diesel. Diesel didn't really understand what she meant. The only thing he understood was that he was in the presence of perhaps the most powerful witch he had ever encountered. He threw Conrad back on the floor for a moment, went over to the chair where she remained, and cupped her cheek.

"The brilliance of your mind amazes me, sweetheart. When you graduate with your degree in Magical law, if you want a job with the Untouchables here in The States, give me a call. Wandless magic is a must for us, but boy howdy, what we could accomplish with someone like you boggles my mind." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"You do realize," he continued, as he brought the dentist chair into an upright position with the pedal by his foot, "that your Ministry will have to be notified that we caught this man. My question for you, Miss Hermione Granger, is do you want recognition as the one who caught him, or do I not mention your involvement at all? I mean, it's way cool that you caught him pretty much by yourself, but I know you were ordered to stay away from the case. You also probably used some magic you shouldn't have, and in front of some Muggles, right? I might be in a bit of trouble for helping you too, although, I'm used to trouble. It's my middle name."

"What's your last name?" Hermione asked.

Diesel just laughed without answering and said, "Well, what's the official story?"

She looked at Ranger again and then back to Diesel. Ranger reached out and grasped her hand, giving it a squeeze. That alone gave her the courage to do what she knew was right.

She had broken many of her country's laws. Laws she had promised to uphold. She had done unauthorized magic on Bailey and on Ranger with a spell that wasn't even recognized. She had gone against her superiors when she came to The States and asked Diesel for help. She had performed magic in the presence of a Muggle. Frankly, she never cared for accolades. She loathed praise and recognition. She was merely happy that Bailey would no longer hurt another child.

She finally said, "You caught one of Magical England's most wanted criminals all by yourself, Diesel. You should be proud. The 'hows', 'wheres', and 'whys' are your concern."

"That's what I thought you'd say. I knew you weren't in it for the glory. I think I just fell in love with you a bit more today." He smiled, picked up the trash (Bailey) from the floor and popped away.

Ranger turned to Hermione, who was sliding out of the dentist chair. "How did you find me?" she asked. She realized Ranger still had her hand. She was glad. She felt as if she would fall without it.

"That was Diesel. He located you from the tie, and because Bailey left some sort of magical imprint on it before he left it. Then, he traced your magical imprint from the… room (he decided not to say from the sheets) and he traced you both here. He's a useful son-of-a-bitch, I must say. I'm a sorry one, because I was helpless to do anything. In the end, you didn't need me at all." Ranger frowned when he said that last part.

She stood before him and sighed. He was wrong on that part, but she wouldn't tell him so. She looked around the small room. "Where is this place?"

"Dr. Giggly's last known office. The one we staked out yesterday. He's dead, by the way." Ranger brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly before he dropped it to her side. Then he placed a hand on her neck, under her hair, because she looked as if she might falter at any moment.

She almost melded against his side. She sunk her head into his chest. He rubbed his hands up and down her back. "Does that mean you won't get your reward, or whatever it's called?" she asked against his chest. Her voice sounded muffled.

He placed a hand under her chin, tilting her head upwards. "No, it's dead or alive for scumbags like Giggly. We'll get our reward. You'll go back to England, though, and what will you get for your trouble here?" The thought of her leaving filled him with dread.

"The satisfaction that Bailey, and even Giggly, won't hurt anyone else, and perhaps some alleviation of my guilt." She placed her arms around his waist. He held her just as tightly. They embraced for a very long time before she looked up at him and said, "I also get a wonderful memory of you. That's worth more than you'll ever know. I'll never forget you. You weren't useless. You came into my life just when I needed you most, and I will absolutely never forget you."

He placed a kiss on her temple, by her hair. Urging her face up with one hand, he said, "I'm going to kiss you now, Granger." He didn't know why he felt compelled to tell her that, but he did.

He caressed her hair as his mouth moved slowly over her cheek, raining light kisses along the way. The sensation sent a fire in her belly, and though moments ago she was filled with terror and dread, now she was filled with indescribable happiness. Pleasure and happiness filled each fiber of her being.

Desire streaked through her as his lips grazed against her lips. His mouth cajoled hers to open, claiming more of her, and she gave it to him, highly aware that this would be the last time, the last kiss, and their last moment. One hand caressed her face, his other hand pressing on her back. Her hands remained around his waist. She felt her wand in his back pocket. She pulled it out slowly.

It was a defining moment. She was saddened by it, as well as enlightened. When he lifted his head from hers, his lips parting from her lips, his eyes opening, boring holes into her eyes, into her soul, into her memory, he finally said, "I too will remember this always, Hermione Granger. I will never forget you and what we shared, and even if you go away from here and I never see you again, you can't take that away from me."

"Ah, Ranger, that's where you're wrong," she said with the utmost remorse. She touched his face and started to cry. Then she lifted her wand to his head, touched it to the side, kissed him once more, lightly, and then said, "_Obliviate."_

* * *

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* * *

Ranger woke with a massive headache. He sat up, and Tank and Hal were standing over him.

"What happened?" Ranger asked, holding the side of his head.

"We got a call from that Diesel fellow that you captured Giggly's partner single-handedly. I guess there's a large bounty for him in England," Hal told his boss as Ranger struggled to stand. "Diesel said we would find you here, and that he was taking this man, Conrad Bailey, into custody. He said he would make sure you received the bounty, though. He said that you hit your head."

Ranger shook his head and looked around. "Why don't I remember?"

"Diesel said you were stunned with your own stun gun," Hal informed him.

Ranger leaned against a dentist chair and said, "I mean, I don't even remember Giggly having a partner. I caught him?"

"Yeah…and you and that English woman were watching him outside this building earlier, don't you recall?" Tank asked.

Ranger remembered Giggly. He remembered Diesel, unfortunately. But what English woman? "English woman?"

"Yeah, you were on stake-out with her when I met her," Tank explained. "You met her at the pizza place, and then you went on stake-out with her, and later I believe you were at her hotel." The big black man blushed at that part. He added, "She was here to catch Giggly's partner. You really don't remember? Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought. Perhaps you should go to the hospital?"

Ranger shook his head. "No, I'm fine, I remember now," he lied. What English woman?

For days Ranger tried to remember how he got into that office building where his men found him. He didn't remember going there, he didn't remember fighting anyone, or capturing anyone, or hitting his head, or being stunned. He sure as hell didn't remember a stake-out with an English woman. Tank had also mentioned something about a hotel and a tie. He sure as hell didn't remember a hotel.

The tie was another thing. For some reason, he had a red-and-gold striped tie in his pocket, with no memory of how it got there.

He began to ask questions. The hotel wouldn't give him any information, but that didn't deter him. He found out on his own that an English woman checked in a few days before, for only one night. For some reason the hotel didn't have a record of her name or how she paid for the room. All of the security tapes had somehow been destroyed.

He went to the pizza parlor next. Yes, the waitress remembered Ranger meeting Diesel and a woman there, but she didn't recall anything else.

Yes, the bartender remembered a pretty woman who talked funny. She apparently stunned some brute of a man who got fresh with her.

Ranger discreetly asked Tank a few questions about her. When Tank got suspicious, Ranger revealed to his oldest friend that he didn't remember anything about her. Tank was still worried, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he told Ranger what he knew about her.

"She had a funny name. Her first name was Hermione, last name, Granger. I remember her last name, because at the time I thought in my head, 'hey, it's a Ranger and a Granger'. She wasn't very tall; she was on the thin side, but she had a nice shape. She had long, curly, brown hair. Brown eyes, but they were warm, with gold specks. She had freckles, just a few. She had a really nice voice, and a pretty accent. She was perhaps one of the prettiest women I've ever met in real life. I can't believe you don't remember her, because when I came upon you two in the car, I got the impression I was interrupting something."

Ranger frowned. Why couldn't he remember her?

Finally, as much as he hated to so, he called Diesel. He asked to meet him at the same pizza parlor that he supposedly met him a week prior. He sat in a back booth and waited.

He watched as the tall, broad, blond man walked through the crowded bar towards him. He eased himself into the seat across from Ranger. Ranger had one arm across the back of the booth. The fingers of his hand drummed lightly on the leather upholstery. His other hand held a red-and-gold striped tie, and rested on top of the table.

The first thing Ranger said was, "Have you ever seen this tie before?"

"No, but it doesn't really seem like your type of clothing," Diesel countered. "It would clash with all the black."

"It was in the pocket of my cargo pants," Ranger said casually. "I thought you might know who it belonged to, but if not, fine." He started to ball it up, but Diesel held out his hand.

"If you want, you can give it to me. I think it would go well with a suit I have at home." His hand remained open, over the table.

Ranger held the tie toward the other man, and then placed it on the table. He smoothed out the wrinkles. "No, I think I'll keep it for a while. I might find who it belongs to. Perhaps it belongs to the English woman that everyone keeps talking about, but whom I can't seem to remember." He glared at the other man, accusatorially.

"English woman, huh? And you say you can't remember her? How odd. She was a looker, too. We met her right here, at this bar. Strange you can't remember her. Well, if you just called me here for fashion advice, I say, leave the tie. Black seems to really suit you best. I like the California surfer dude look, but that's just for me. I should go." Diesel started out of the booth.

Ranger placed his foot on the other man's seat, his leg blocking his exit. Diesel looked down at it and smiled. "I could always break your leg off, you know."

"And I could always kill you, so there you go," Ranger said softly. He moved his foot back to the floor and picked the tie up with his hands. "Why do I have dreams about a girl with brown, curly hair, fighting evil-looking men, wearing long black robes, waving around long sticks? Sometimes in my dreams she's scared and hiding out in the woods. Why do I have flashes of the same girl, at a school in England, with a young boy with glasses and a scar on his forehead? Why is she wearing a tie similar to this?" He looked up at Diesel.

"Sounds like you have an overactive imagination. You should probably write a book or something. You might make a million dollars," Diesel quipped.

Diesel realized that Ranger was remembering Hermione's 'memories' from her Empathy Spell. She had Oblivated his memory of her and their time together, but even an Oblivation Spell wouldn't wipe away all the memories from her Empathy Spell. She had told Diesel about the Oblivation, so that he could clean up her mess, and he agreed to do so. She didn't have time to wipe the memories of other people who saw her, but Diesel didn't think that would matter, or that Ranger would pursue things.

Now he knew how wrong he was. Ranger wasn't someone to give up so easily.

Ranger continued, "Though I don't remember the woman everyone else seems to remember, somehow, her description seems strangely like the girl I see in these fantasies and dreams. You're going to tell me what's going on, and you're going to tell me right now."

"Or what?" the other man asked. "I know you're a scary guy, and quite serious with your threats, and if I were a normal man, I would be shaking in my boots. But Ranger, I'm perhaps the only man who isn't afraid of you, just as you're not afraid of me."

Diesel stood up. He leaned toward Ranger, one hand on the table, on top of the tie. "Leave it alone. She doesn't want you to remember, and believe me, it's for the best. Things that happened here weren't meant to happen. You found out things you weren't supposed to know. If you continue to pursue things, you could endanger yourself, but also her, and believe me, I won't allow that to happen. She happens to be important to me, and to my world, and I know you don't recall this, but she's important to you too. And if people found out she was here, and that she was involved in certain things, she would face terrible trouble. Leave it alone."

Diesel grabbed the tie and walked away.

Ranger sat alone in the booth and knew that someday – someday perhaps very soon – he would find the answers he was seeking, even if he had to go to England to find them. His mystery woman wouldn't stay a mystery forever.

* * *

THE END


End file.
